A Spirit from the Vasty Deep
by Rennie1265
Summary: James Norrington finds a new vocation as a ghost haunting a certain pirate captain. Death story of a sort obviously since a ghost is involved. Please R
1. Part the First to the Third

Plot bunny put up for adoption by Order of Chaos, found while passing by, moved in under the table and made itself to home, gnawing on the table legs. Like I needed another one. Title is adapted from Shakespeare, with apologies. (_Glyndwr; Act 3, Scene 1; 1 Henry IV)_

**The Bunny #49**

James dies, becomes a ghost (can be seen by cats and the psychically inclined) and ends up haunting the Black Pearl, who, incidentally, had rather missed having the undead around and was glad to have him. Her Captain was another matter.

Disclaimer: anything other than original characters belong to the Kingdom of the Mouse, worse luck, and no profit will ever be made from this. Enough of this nonsense, on to the story.

xoxoxoxoxoxox

**A Spirit from the Vasty Deep:**

**Part the First**

Nothingness.

No up, no down; neither lightness nor darkness; no sounds; no feeling. In fact, no sensations at all. Which was odd in itself, as he was not entirely certain he knew what he was missing nor how he knew something was not there. He had wisps of images that formed although he did not know where they were coming from or where they were going; there would be nothing and then there would come a picture. There were glimpses of faces with wild eyes, action all around him, haze and smoke and fire, things that just drifted in and out of wherever _this_ was.

Time passed; at least he thought it might have. He was increasingly aware now of how strange this place was and was beginning to recall more of his own memories, if that was what they were. The images became more detailed and intrigued him, in a mildly curious fashion. He watched the faces when they drifted by, some drew his attention more than others. There were ships now in the pictures he saw, though how he knew they were ships escaped him; it did not seem to matter, it was sufficient that they were ships floating on the sea.

There began to be one particular ship that loomed through the haze more frequently, a large dark ship with tall masts and a presence that shone through the wisps of cloud. Intrigued, he began to look for it to reappear. Each time the ship came into his sight, it had more depth and sharpness to it; he could see more details of her rigging and ornamentation. Quite ostentatious, he thought, and then had to wonder how he knew. He felt that the ship was lonely in some manner and fey enough to have an awareness of her own to judge from the sensations he felt emanating from her when she passed him by. The next time she loomed up toward him, he acted upon his impulse.

"_Ship,"_ he thought at her, _"what are you that I can feel you?"_

The awareness he had felt from her on previous passings-by now focused on him; the feeling was very peculiar, somewhat itchy in sensation. The great carven figurehead with its outstretched hand seemed to look at his location directly, her salt encrusted eyes eerily bright in the gloom that formed his existence for the nonce. This time, instead of continuing by him, the ship seemed to hesitate in its course, a faint phosphorescence frothing up below her stem and along a black hull. That's interesting, he thought, I can see the waves much more clearly now where I could not do so before.

"_What am I? I am the Black Pearl," _came the reply, as if that said it all and perhaps it did.

"_That is a lovely name but I am unable to comprehend how we are able to sense one another here, whatever or wherever here may be."_

"_We sense each other because we are in a between place, neither fully alive nor wholly dead. Here much is possible that others in their real world would not give credence to."_

"_You are saying, if I understand you correctly, that you are alive more so than other ships and that I am among the dead, in some fashion?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Would you happen to know how I died, if that is indeed the case?"_

"_No, I do not know how you may have died or how you came to be here."_

"_Oh. Would you happen to know who I am?"_

"_Do you not know who you are?"_

"_No. I just seemed to be here, in this fog and murk, and then things began to appear out of the mists. Until you came, the other images, things or whatever they were, just passed me by. You are the first to stay and talk to me."_

"_You I have seen before, out in the real world where I ride the seas. You are a sailor but unlike those who have been my crews."_

"_A sailor, you say. That feels right somehow."_

He pondered that for a while then inquired, becoming more curious_, "How am I unlike your crews?"_

"_I am not part of any king's navy or fleet. I am a pirate ship. My crew are of the Brethren, at least, most are. Sometimes those who come aboard have lives elsewhere but for a time they belong to me."_

"_It would seem then, by your intimation, that I was part of a navy and thusly anathema to a ship such as yourself?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Would you know my name or what I was in that navy? There are memories beginning to reappear but I am woefully unable to recall who I am, or was, rather."_

"_You I knew as The Commodore. My captain and others knew you as a hunter of their kind but most had respect for you as well as fear of you. When word came of your death, he paced much upon my quarterdeck, talking to me of what you meant to him and to the young ones."_

"_I do not perfectly understand you. Why would a pirate captain mourn the passing of one who would hunt him?"_

"_When he escaped his hanging, you gave him one day's head start before resuming the chase. He was told of that by the young ones when they met up with us later. Since then, we have played many games, my captain and you, your ship and I. The dark years with the other captain were cruel and that one treated me badly. It felt good to play merry chases with your Dauntless, even though he is so serious in his thoughts and habits; he is a handsome ship and worthy of my attentions."_

"_The Dauntless…was that my ship?"_

"_Yes."_

He pondered about that for a time. His fellow traveler, or whatever she was, seemed to reflect on her acquaintance with his ship with fondness and amusement. Very odd, that. He decided to ask more of her, seeing as the Black Pearl was in a forthcoming mood.

"_Did we ever catch you?"_

"_Not if I did not wish it." _The reply came smugly, for all it was heard only in his mind. Smiling, he elected to make a request of the ship.

"_I have greatly enjoyed our conversation, my Lady Pearl. Seeing as how I am stranded in this condition of being nowhere, do you think it possible that I might accompany you on your journey? If that would not be an inconvenience to you, that is."_

Pleased with his courtesy, the ship seemed to consider the request in all seriousness. He waited patiently for her to answer; it was not as if he had anywhere to go, especially if he were truly deceased. The silvery gaze of the figurehead rested upon his non-corporeal form; although the expression in the carved face did not alter, the Commodore was aware of a lightness in the mists surrounding them.

"_Yes, I would be pleased to take you on board. It will be pleasant to have someone with whom I can converse easily. It will be less lonely for both of us, then."_

"_Thank you, Madame, for your kindness. Ah, would you happen to know how I may come aboard?"_

"_It is simply done, merely see yourself being upon my deck and you will find yourself there."_

The Commodore did as instructed and was pleased to find it was as easy as the ship had stated. There was no transition or sense of movement from one place to the next, he was just there, albeit the sensation of physically standing on the wooden deck was lacking. The best part was that he was no longer alone, stranded aimlessly in the mists. He might be dead, but at least he was aboard a ship again, and a fine ship at that, one which was sentient in its own fashion and willing to communicate with him. He had had quite enough of the nothingness and much relieved at his change of status.

"_This is much better than where I was. It would appear everything is becoming more substantial; as we conversed, the mists seemed to thin and the pictures became much clearer. Now that I am here on your deck, the degree of clarity is definitely improving."_

"_Perhaps it will continue to improve as you sail with me. You have my leave to explore as you wish."_

With that, the Black Pearl withdrew her attention from him as she returned to the business at hand. She had a course to attend to and her new passenger had taken enough of her time for now. He could wander over her decks or up into the rigging however he wished, or even down into the bilges and the holds. They would continue their conversation at another time.

The Commodore was rather amused by the ship's dismissal of her new passenger but he had no argument with her. He was now somewhere, rather than in the nothingness where he had become aware of his new status in the world. He was able to see the crew going about their duties quite clearly; although it was disconcerting when one passed directly through him, he did attempt to step aside as a matter of courtesy. At the start, he could not hear their voices or the sounds they made performing their tasks but he discovered that if he concentrated on a specific crewman, then he could hear that man. After the first week or so, it had become very easy to separate out individuals wherever they happened to be on board the ship.

xoxoxoxoxoxox

As he began to know them better, the Commodore learned their names and the duties each seemed assigned to perform. Accustomed as he had been to Naval discipline, the casual manner in which those tasks were done seemed peculiar but he could not dispute that it worked. The Black Pearl was obviously a well-found ship which would indicate her captain and officers knew what they were about. The sailing master, an older man with a fine set of salt and pepper whiskers, was someone he had known long ago. He had lost track of the man but was pleased to see he survived yet, even if a pirate. The bosun was a surprise; it was the first time he had seen a woman, and a woman of colour at that, in such a position. Clearly she was capable of fulfilling her position but he was not entirely persuaded her temper was an asset.

It intrigued him no end to pop in and out of places; he just had to picture where he wished to be and there he was. If he had not seen a particular location he merely went along and stuck his head through a bulkhead or door. The Commodore was finding it easier with practice to think across planes and extend the limits he had known as a living man, rising through decks as he willed. Even when perched up at the very pinnacle of the masts or on the outboard end of the jib boom, he could feel no danger of falling or any other insecurity. Quite pleasant, all told. The only place he declined to peer into was the Captain's cabin. He had always valued privacy aboard a ship as a rare commodity and, for now, he decided to treat Sparrow as a fellow captain and respect the man's quarters.

He made no promise to himself that there would be no such incursions in the future.

As he became more accustomed to his new status as unseen passenger, after all he was not a working crew member; he began to wish for more things to keep him occupied. He had known a life of duty where he had had much to fill his days and other things, such as books and music, with which to amuse himself in moments of leisure. It was difficult to be idle when all around him were busy doing. Often in the evenings, the crew would persuade those who could make music to play, others told stories or sang. The Commodore would listen along with the crew, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere as much as the entertainments.

The conversations he had with the Pearl were his only interaction with another being. She was unlike any ship he had known in his previous existence and he loved listening to her accounts of voyages and places but he sensed her distress any time he inquired about the years leading up to her recovery by Jack Sparrow. He mulled it over for a time and came to understand she was shamed by how she had been used and that she had permitted Barbossa to maroon her captain. He tried to reassure her, that she had been younger then, less able to make her presence known to those who remained on board, but she remained unconvinced.

Things continued in this manner for a couple of months. Now that he was aboard a ship again, he felt somewhat better about his condition and decided to try expanding his horizons. He recalled stories he had heard about spectres and hauntings and that sort of nonsense and had to laugh at himself since he was now one of the very things he had scoffed at when he was alive.

It was in the galley where he was inspecting the contents of the cook's giant copper cauldron, grateful not to have a stomach requiring he partake of whatever it had been in its prior existence, when he chanced to look down to see one of the ship's cats by his feet. That there were cats on the ship was to be expected, that this one was aware of his presence was something new. Until now, the felines had apparently been oblivious to his presence or disdained to acknowledge him if they had noticed. He peered down at the large tortoiseshell cat, green eyes meeting golden. For a short while they engaged in a staring match until the cat blinked at him in approval and began to purr. She proceeded to contort into an impossible position and began to leisurely wash a hind leg, making sure to hold her tail securely out of the road with a fore paw.

He smiled at the sight and on an impulse reached down and attempted to scratch her head behind her ears. To his surprise, he could feel the soft fur and the solidity of the round skull beneath his long fingers as she turned to allow him to reach a particularly itchy spot under her jaw. As she rose from her bath, the cat stropped along his ankle, passing back and forth several times before sallying forth from the galley out on to the deck, pausing long enough to wrap her tail sedulously around his calf. Having nothing to do for the time being, the Commodore decided to follow the cat and see where she wished to lead him, not noticing that the cook had observed the cat's peculiar behavior. The man stood and squinted hard, trying to see what the cat was up to; failing to discern what the moggy was going on about, the cook shook his bald head and returned to his work.

Once back on deck, the long haired cat sauntered along, her unseen friend following closely behind. Here and there, she paused to inspect the work being done, accepting with regal condescension her due of a pat or kind word. Not every crewman was treated the same, some were obviously more favoured than others. Eventually the cat's path led to the great cabin where she was met with a closed door. Sitting down in front of it, she meowed loudly and imperiously to be let in, looking back over her shoulder as if to make sure the Commodore was still in attendance. The person inside the cabin obeyed her command and opened the door for her to enter, bowing politely to her as she did so.

"Welcome, Your Highness." The ship's captain grinned at her when she chirruped in response to his greeting as he returned to his heavily carved chair at the ornate table. He was in the midst of doing his log book and accounts, necessary evils, and welcomed the company. The cat gave a silent meow to the Commodore as if to tell him to accompany her into the cabin and strolled along to the captain's side, springing up into his lap and kneading his thigh until he shifted into a more comfortable lounge for her. She turned around a time or two and settled her substantial bulk satisfactorily, tidily wrapping her long fluffy tail around her white fore paws. She looked over to her new friend and blinked at him several times, meowing in invitation to join her.

"What are you up to, cat? It's but our own two selves in the cabin right now, you know, eh?" Jack looked down at his lap warmer in amusement and then over to where she was looking. "There is nothing over in the doorway that I can see, not even so much as a lowly mouse or spider."

She glanced up to him, derision obvious in her face as only a cat can deliver, then back to the same spot which held her interest. For a moment, he watched her and then looked again more closely to the cabin entrance. Failing to see anything at all, he laughed at himself for his imagining and returned to the bookkeeping even a pirate ship needed to run on. Taking up his quill, he sharpened the point and trimmed it to give a fine line. He took pride in his literacy and in having a fine hand befitting a gentleman in a time when most were unable to read. The tallies were quickly entered and checked, the log updated and a few notes were made in his rutter.

Whilst Sparrow settled down to his tasks, the Commodore looked around the cabin with great interest. He had resisted the urge to investigate the Black Pearl since his coming aboard and was intrigued to see how a pirate captain's quarters compared to his own rather austere cabin on the Dauntless. He had regained most of his memories preceding his demise and he missed his ship and the freedom it gave him. However, as he was here now with his favourite pirate, he decided to enjoy the situation, grinning broadly at the irony of haunting the buccaneer who had been such a thorn to him when he was alive.

On that thought, the Commodore ventured into the cabin and began to give it a thorough inspection. He could see no reason not to indulge his natural inquisitiveness as he had been invited in, by the cat, at any rate. The heavy carving and dark wood lent the rather spacious room an exotic feel; it would not have been his own selection but it did suit both this ship and the flamboyant man who captained her. The two long cannon were neatly shrouded under canvas, tacit reminders that the Black Pearl was a huntress. The sleeping area was sectioned off by a crimson silk drape, pulled back and secured by a heavy gold chain. There were items of wildly different origins stowed in shelves and on display behind the rails on top of a cabinet but overall there was a surprising degree of neatness, something he would not have given credence to in relation to Jack Sparrow, pirate.

The cat watched his perambulation along the bulkheads and the slanted stern windows, her head shifting to track his movements, until he wandered over to see what Sparrow was doing so diligently. He came and stood behind Sparrow's chair and leaned over to have a better look at the paperwork, recognizing things familiar to any naval officer. Perhaps they were not so terribly different in some matters; pirate captain and naval captain alike seemed to attract generous amounts of paperwork.

The Commodore was not paying close attention to his unwitting host as he snooped unabashedly and only looked down at the man when he heard a most peculiar rustling and clattering. It would seem his presence so close was causing Sparrow to shiver in reaction. Apparently his erstwhile opponent had some degree of the Sight; either that or his own being was becoming increasingly substantial and more readily sensed. Norrington drew back a bit and stood in the middle of the great cabin, waiting to see what the pirate would do next.

Jack sat up sharply when he realized he had felt something or someone walk over his grave. Years ago he would just have shrugged it off but after more recent events, he was not as skeptical as once he had been. Swiveling about to gaze around the cabin, he determined he was alone, save for the cat now slumbering on his lap. For a moment he watched her breathe and twitch as she chased after mice in her sleep, not at all disturbed by whatever it was that had sent cold shivers crawling down his back. When she had entered, he recalled that she had behaved as if there was someone else in the cabin besides the two of them. Frowning, he peered around again, vowing to hang whichever crewman it was who had played a practical joke on him but knowing, even as he muttered that thought to himself, that none of the crew had been involved.

Norrington retreated to the bench beneath the stern lights and seated himself out of habit, shaking his head at the action as he did not actually need to sit down, and settled in to observe the pirate captain in his lair. Jack Sparrow had been a major irritant in his life since the day he had become commodore and Norrington saw no reason not to enjoy the tables being turned so that he could return the favour. His current situation had potential for considerable entertainment and he felt the return of the long quelled streak of mischief he had exercised as a junior officer.

Sparrow had no idea what was in store for him.

xoxoxoxoxoxox

**Part the Second**

The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Sparrow finished his work on the ship's records and rose, stretching out the kinks in his back and shoulders, his joints cracking loudly as he did so before he gathered up his books and returned them to their places in the cabinet. He poured a tankard of water from the pitcher on the table, adding a splash of rum to improve the flavour. The water was relatively fresh yet but the rum helped to make it more palatable. He still had fresh limes so he quartered one and squeezed the juice in as well, pausing to enjoy the smell of the lime as he did. He picked up the tankard and turned to go over to sit on the bench below the stern lights and hesitated as he thought he saw a movement in the mirror on the bulkhead.

He turned completely around and, seeing no one, looked over to where the cat was sleeping on his bed. No help there, the creature was deep seas under and sprawled out in indecent abandon on her back, one curled paw held up over her pale belly fur with the other three splayed every which way. Uncharitably, he informed her she was no help to him, spreading all sorts of hair, drool and vermin over his covers and, the final insult, she was snoring to wake the dead.

"_Actually, I believe the only dead person here is already awake, Mister Sparrow."_

Jack stood stock still, unable to draw breath. For a moment, he could have sworn he had heard the well-bred tones of James Norrington, the late Commodore out of Port Royal.

""Strewth, of all the things you think you'd hear, Jack, why on earth would you be hearing that man? He's the one what wouldn't trust you as far as he could throw you and then tried to hang you after you went and rescued his fiancée, guided them to the Isla de Muerta and then tried to get the Navy to ambush Barbossa an' company, even though he wouldn't listen to what you had to say. Then to top it all off, he went and tried to hang you, again, the ingrate, and then I had to dive off that fort…"

"…_fell, Sparrow, you _fell_ off the wall."_

"…to safety, missing all those rocks." Sparrow paused in his diatribe, his words tapering to nothing. He was afraid to look around to where the voice seemed to be emanating from, lest his growing suspicions were proven true. The short hairs down his back and up his neck began to stand on end, joined rapidly by the hair on his arms and scalp as he contemplated the possibility that he might be haunted by the spectre of James L. Norrington of His Majesty's Royal Navy. As if having to deal with Barbossa and the rest of his cursed mutineers has not been enough.

It just was Not Fair.

He was interrupted in his fears by the cat giving a snuffling snort as she woke, rousing her substantial corporation and coming about to lie on her belly on his bed, staring at him. Jack would have taken his oath she was laughing at him, she had _just_ that look on her face, superior and smug as all get out. As he watched her in turn, the cat's gaze shifted away from him to something over by the door. The part which disturbed him the greatest was that her eyes were focused on a point where a tall man's face might be, and the Commodore had been a tall man. Against his better judgment, Jack slowly turned around to confront what might have been his nemesis come to continue their game of cat and mouse.

Sparrow stood very still, only his eyes moving, trying to see what could not possibly be there, a bit like trying to search out something lurking in a heavy mist. Unsuccessful, he relaxed his hunched shoulders a bit, telling himself that he was merely in need of rest and there were no Commodores, real or in spirit form, in his cabin. He had begun to relax and think it had all been his imagination when the cat stood up on his bed and leaped down to thud heavily on the deck. She paused long enough to have a thorough stretch and rubbed along his leg as she did on occasion before continuing over to the spot she had been watching. To Sparrow's horror, the feline stopped and repeated the stropping along someone else's leg; at least he assumed it was a leg, purring and carrying on as if someone was stroking her head.

Jack stared very hard at the cat, swallowing with some difficulty as he saw her chin go up and move back and forth as if it was being scratched by long fingers. He leaned backwards, putting both hands up as if to ward off an attack, before taking his courage in hand and calling out to whatever was playing with the cat. He was careful to keep his voice low enough not to be heard beyond the cabin door as he really did not want his crew to mutiny on account their captain was haunted.

"Oy!"

There was no response, which was a good thing except that now the cat flopped down on the deck, rolled over and presented her belly for a rub, wriggling to get her point across. Not good. Jack inhaled gustily preparatory to speech when he was interrupted, quite rudely, he thought.

"_Spit it out, man. You look like you are about to swallow your tongue, carrying on like that. One would think you had never had any experience with the supernatural before." _

"Hell's bells, it _is_ you! I'd recognize that snarky voice anywhere."

"_Well, who were you expecting then? The Queen of the May?"_

"Not a bloody Commodore, for starters."

"_Why not a Commodore, bloody or otherwise? Apparently you were aware of my death and how I died, according to my source, so why should I not come here?"_

"Commodores aren't supposed to go around haunting places, especially not pirate ships. Why are you here, anyway? I certainly didn't ask for your company after you shuffled off this mortal coil!" Jack's whining tones showed very clearly his aggravation with his now ghostly opponent.

"_Hmm, I really don't believe your argument to hold validity, Sparrow, or are you merely prejudiced against deceased naval officers?"_

At this affront, Sparrow nearly swallowed his tongue as he sucked in a deep breath in outrage. He had had to deal with his former mutinous crew as undead skeletal pirates but it was beyond the pale to now be haunted by the Royal Navy. Of course, it would have to be Norrington, the pirate hunter himself, come to disturb his ship and his quarters. He frowned suddenly as he recollected just when the man had met his end and felt obliged to make an inquiry of his own, suspicious of the late Commodore's reasoning.

"Why are you just now showing up? You died months ago and quite some distance from here. There was quite the to-do in Port Royal, fancy state funeral and all that nonsense, even though there wasn't a body to actually plant in the earth. It upset Elizabeth for days, having to say goodbye like that."

"_I suppose that that is a fair question, Sparrow…"_

"…Captain! It's Captain Sparrow. How many times do I have to remind you?"

"…_but I don't really know the answer to it. I am not sure how long it was before I became aware of my new status, shall we call it, and started to take notice of my surroundings and passers-by. I regret that Mrs. Turner was grieved by my passing but it was always likely that I would die of injuries or disease out here in the Indies."_

"That still doesn't say why you're here, on the Black Pearl, and not off on some other pirate ship, haunting other pirates, or even a naval vessel where you belong."

"_I'm here on the Black Pearl because the Black Pearl invited me, after a fashion."_

Jack stared blankly at the wall before re-iterating, "The Black Pearl invited you…"

"_That is what I said, Sparrow. Your ship allowed me to come aboard and travel along with her."_

For a moment, dead silence reigned in the great cabin and then…

"I really need a drink."

With that profound statement, Jack headed straight over to the chest where he kept his rum and other spirits, wasting little time in digging out the nearest bottle, being fine dark Jamaican rum of considerable alcoholic content. The ordinary rum he already had out just was not strong enough to do the job quickly, more potent spirits being called for. He didn't bother with the nicety of a glass but yanked out the cork and put the mouth of the bottle to his lips and sucked down a long gulp of the fiery liquid. He felt himself perfectly justified under the circumstances to have another long pull at his bottle, hoping that the one sort of spirit would cancel out the other.

Jack dropped heavily into his chair, clutching his bottle tightly to his chest. Fearing to find out otherwise, he kept his head down and his eyes on his rum. His palms were clammy and sweating now and he could feel a cold trickle running down his backbone, the occasional shiver adding its own fillip of sensation to his suddenly awful day. There was quiet in the cabin, not even the cat was making a sound. All Jack could hear was his own breathing. Maybe, just maybe, that bloody Norrington had taken himself off elsewhere to pester someone else. With that fervent hope in his mind, Jack had several more swigs of rum to sooth his jangled nerves before closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the deeply carven mahogany of the chair back.

For his part, Norrington took a certain amount of satisfaction at his first efforts in haunting Jack Sparrow. He felt he would certainly improve with practice as he learned the ropes of his new vocation; after all, he had always been a quick study. He would leave Sparrow to commune with his bottle of rum for the time being, the poor man looked as if he truly needed its comfort, fleeting though it would be.

He went over to have a good look at his erstwhile nuisance, finding it a bit unnatural to see the man sitting there so still. Usually Sparrow was as restless as the sea itself, fluttering and swaying about. As James watched the pirate captain, he considered that Jack used all the nonsense to distract any and all, friend and foe alike. There was a real intelligence and capability behind the fool's mask he presented to the world. Indeed, a worthy opponent. On that note, Norrington turned and made his way out of the great cabin, passing through the heavy door with ease, and wandered up to the quarterdeck to observe the helmsman and to contemplate the day's revelations.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Once there, Norrington took up his customary station to windward of the helm, clasping his hands behind his back as he had done for years. This had long been his preferred spot to meditate, whether considering details of a naval action or merely to contemplate the world around him. Best of all, if it was a quiet time, he loved to commune with his ship, relaxing until he felt a part of the oak deck beneath him, the stretch of canvas aloft, the rush of hull through the sea. His cabin was more private but the quarterdeck was where he could be one with his ship, the sailors and officers parts of the whole.

His thoughts rambled pleasantly along through some of his happier memories as he absently began to hum a tune he had heard years before on the passage out from England. There had been some very good times in his life and he could look back in satisfaction on them, smiling as he recalled some of the pranks he had gotten into as a young middy and later as a junior lieutenant. In turn, these led him further back to when he had been a young lad in Norfolk. His family had been sons of the sea for generations and it was no surprise when he followed in his turn at the age of twelve, small for his age and rather quiet. Fortunately, he had taken to life aboard ship and loved it immensely, at least once his early sea sickness had passed. Several growth spurts had presented their challenges; he could yet recall the bruises and skinned shins he had acquired with his new long legs and gawky body.

He wondered how his family back in England had taken the news of his death and hoped they did not grieve too long over him. He had been doing the very thing he wanted most in the world to do and an early death had always been a possibility, either from action or one of the diseases that so plagued the Tropics. He had had a driving ambition to succeed in the Royal Navy and his rapid rise in rank showed his success and determination. He had made friends and good contacts along the way, made a few enemies as well but they came with the territory.

What troubled him was that he had no memory of how he had made his exit from this mortal coil. He could now recall a great deal about recent times, judging from the age and appearance of Sparrow and Gibbs. The ship seemed to hint that it had not been all that long ago and Sparrow had said something about months when he was accusing Norrington of being dilatory in coming along to haunt him. He did remember engagements against enemies but was hazy as to how close to his death some of them might have been. He was of two minds about investigating it further; on the one hand, he rather wished to know just when he died but, on the other, he was a bit reluctant, almost squeamish.

Then there was the matter of Elizabeth Turner, nee Swann, and the Governor as well. Norrington had truly felt affection for both parties, Elizabeth would have made a fine wife but she had formed that attachment to young Will Turner from a very early age and had not seen fit to see behind the formal face he presented to the world. Weatherby Swann had been a good friend and advisor to James; perhaps not a man of action but well versed in swimming with the sharks of politics and society. Swann had always treated James with kindness as well as humour and had supported the younger man's career wherein he was able.

Norrington was interrupted in his thoughts by the watch change as the new helmsman came on duty. This time it was the old sailor, the one who had lost his tongue, and the large macaw who was his familiar, for lack of a better term. James observed the changeover approvingly; Cotton was one of the Black Pearl's favourites and he treated her kindly and respectfully without fail, quiet and gentle on her wheel. This occasion took a different turn as John Cotton looked over to where the Commodore was standing and stared hard at that spot, his grizzled brows drawing down in puzzlement. The parrot joined its master in action, turning its head to focus one large eye on the same spot, the pupil dilating and contracting as the creature considered the matter before delivering a verdict.

The verdict, when it came, was a loud raucous screech followed by a distinctly uttered "red sky in morning." The Commodore and the helmsman each turned to look at the bird, one wondering what his friend was going on about and the other growing a mite concerned. It seemed that on this day, his presence aboard the Black Pearl was no longer going unnoticed by the crew, human or otherwise. On that note, he decided a stroll along the decks was in order; the day's tasks were drawing to a close and soon the men would begin the evening's entertainments. Norrington was amused to see the doors to the captain's quarters were still shut tight as if to keep him from disturbing the occupant. He might pop in later to see how Sparrow was doing before he returned to the quarterdeck to spend the night watch.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Jack was indeed taking refuge in his cabin. He was still hoping, praying almost, that the phantom Commodore had been a figment of his imagination or indigestion brought on by a bit of bad meat. Unfortunately his luck did not tend to run to such easy answers and he was quite certain that Norrington was, in fact, if not in body, aboard the Black Pearl. Jack was a bit confused at that, he would have thought the Pearl had had enough of the undead to not wish to have a ghost aboard, especially the ghost of one who had taken his pirate hunting and executing so seriously. He poured out another good splash of rum into his tankard, pausing to inquire of his ship what on earth she thought she was about.

"_He was able to talk to me and has lovely manners."_

Wonderful. Now he was hearing his ship actually speak to him. It had to be the rum. Oh well, he might as well play along with his delusions, the whole day had gone to hell in a hand basket so why not?

"As you've decided to talk to me a bit more vocally than you usually do, my love, I would expect you to remember that yon Commodore has done in a very large number of the Brethren and that you are a pirate ship crewed and captained by pirates."

"_He was lost in the mists and I found him there, all alone. He has no Navy to support him now and his Dauntless is far away. Besides, I like him. He is quite a handsome addition to my crew."_

"I was under the impression that I, being the Captain, was the one who decided to take on new crew. I am perfectly certain that I would never have hired a Royal Navy officer like that one. In fact, I know I would not have."

"_You were quite sympathetic to him when young Elizabeth cast him aside for Bootstrap's son, the blacksmith."_

"Now, how would you be knowing that particular detail, Pearl of my heart? You were still out of sight of the fort at Port Royal when that happened."

"_Ara told me all about it, of course, and I have listened to what has been said by the crew and by you."_

"Ara? Who the devil is Ara? We don't have any crew member on board with a name like that. Anamaria is the closest and that's not the same name at all."

"_Of course we do. Ara is Mr. Cotton's good friend and helpmate even if Ara does so admire your shiny bits."_

"You mean Mr. Cotton's parrot has a name and the unnatural creature has told you?"

"_Why would Ara not tell me? It is not as if it is a secret, you understand, one merely has to listen properly."_

There was no doubt in Sparrow's mind at all, his ship was not only teasing him but she was enamoured of that blasted Navy fellow to boot, not to mention that gaudy parrot. The day had begun so well and he could not for the life of him determine what had brought on such horrible changes. He had always treated the Black Pearl as if she was a living thing and had been convinced for some years that she did respond to him and to some of the occurrences about her. This sudden turn to chattiness, not to mention the acquisition of a spectral passenger, was alarming and he had no idea what would happen next. The Pearl was being smug and superior to him; mind you, she was the grandest ship afloat that he knew of and thus had a right to feel superior, but he thought Barbossa and his former crew had been quite sufficient representatives of the underworld.

"Tell me something, luv, what do you plan on doing with Norrington? Is he to become a member of the crew or is he merely a temporary passenger that we can disembark on some island or reef or something? I had not planned to take on any more from the spirit world and I am absolutely positive that I would not have chosen that one had I planned it."

"_He was a sailor, and a very good one at that. You yourself were quite distressed when news came of his death. I remember you pacing back and forth talking to yourself. I remember too when the young ones came aboard for a visit and you offered your condolences to them on the loss of a friend and former fiancé. Are you saying now that you do not like him?"_

"It's not a matter of not having liked the man but he is the one who did his damnedest to hang me. Had it not been for Will, Lizzie and her father, I would have been caught again and probably joined those other poor unfortunates blowing in the breeze out at Deadman's Cay. Hanging a man can make quite an impression on a man, in case that has escaped your notice, missy."

He paused to allow his ship to answer in turn but the silence in the cabin and in his head continued. Apparently she was not going to answer his question at this time, giving rise to his conviction that she was planning on keeping her Commodore aboard over her captain's objections. He wondered if he had enough rum on board to cope with this situation or whether he should chart a course over to Martinique to restock. The idea appealed to him so he would haul out the charts on the morrow and plot the voyage from Tortuga out. On the other hand, Jamaica was closer and they had fine rums there anyway. He would sleep on it, hopefully without interruptions by either his sentient ship or his unwelcome guest.

xoxoxoxoxoxox

**Part the Third**

It was a fine night for sailing, Norrington thought to himself. The wind was fair and fresh, the sky so clear the stars blazed gloriously bright overhead with their cold fires, the moon elsewhere on her journey this night. The ship was making very good time on this long leg, foaming white waves breaking under her bow and rushing along her black hull. Most of the crew had turned in to their hammocks and only the night watch remained awake above decks. He had always loved this kind of night; there was something about the way of a ship at sea that was wondrous in and of itself, better poetry than the finest poets on land had ever written. He was perched out on the jib boom at the moment, not wishing to disturb the crew. The Black Pearl felt happy and content to run on her long reach but he was disinclined to disturb her peace with conversation; it was enough to be here and now for both of them.

The bell clanged out the hour and he decided he would have a stroll through the ship, just ensuring that all was well in this cosmos bounded by oaken timbers and canvas sails. Smiling cheekily, he thought that he would go along and see how the captain was doing at this hour. After all, he had left Sparrow to commune with strong spirits and he did feel some small responsibility for that state of affairs.

Deciding to walk rather than just think himself there, Norrington strolled along the main deck and then into the great cabin. He did not feel an invitation would be forthcoming at this time of night and so passed through the doors unhesitatingly. Somewhat to his surprise, the pirate was actually asleep in his bed, the large cot swaying in the rope tackle to the ship's pleasant movements. Norrington came closer to have a better look at Sparrow, hopefully without disturbing his slumber. He had no idea how close he had to be to the living for them to sense his presence but was not in the mood to experiment at the moment.

It was quite peculiar, Norrington thought to himself, Jack Sparrow had to be a decade older than he was, or had been, and yet at rest like this the man looked very young and almost innocent. The dark features were relaxed and easy, the long lashes swept dark against the delicate skin beneath the eyes. The mouth, slightly ajar, looked like something a Renaissance artist would have used on seraphim or cherubs or a child; even the black moustache, sparse beard and outlandish braids could not disguise the fine features.

As the notion crossed his mind, the Commodore wondered if that was the reason why Sparrow went to so much trouble with the appearance he presented, almost as an actor playing a role upon a stage. It was quite certain that if the man was clean shaven, scoured thoroughly and shorn of the riotous mess atop his head, the youthful face would make it very hard to captain any pirate vessel larger than a row boat. Curious. He would have to ask Jack sometime if that was the case. For now, Norrington was content to speculate upon sleeping pirates and decided to return to the outer decks and leave Sparrow to his rest.

xoxoxoxoxoxox

Sparrow's day began with a gigantic sneeze as he sat up abruptly, dislodging the blasted cat from her perch on his chest. No wonder he had been dreaming something was suffocating him, her ponderous bulk was like having a length of anchor chain coiled up on him. The sneeze was caused by something that totally repulsed him. Before his nose exploded he had opened his eyes to see the cat's golden eyes scant inches from his and to his disgust the filthy beast was engaged in probing one of his nostrils with a very long, stiff whisker. God only knew what she expected to find in there but even the thought of that repellent whisker returning made his nose hairs curl.

The long-haired tortoiseshell retreated to the corner of Sparrow's rumpled bed and sat with offended dignity, pointedly turning her back on the man and closing her eyes to deny his presence in the same room. For his part, Jack gave up on trying to get back to sleep; the morning sun was glancing across the deck as the Pearl made the westerly leg of her present tack and he had tasks to see to. He crawled out of his bunk and gave a long, shuddering stretch before going over to the basin under the mirror on the forward bulkhead. Dumping some water into it, he splashed it over his face to wake himself further before fishing around in the drawer for a chew stick and salt to do his teeth. The gold work might be flashy but the pain of installation was not a great deal of fun as he had discovered in the past, even copious amounts of rum had not really lessened it. So for now, he tended to his teeth, took a swig of water and gargled noisily before sticking his head out an open stern window and spitting into their wake.

Yawning widely, he turned to go back to the mirror to refresh his kohl and noticed the bottles on the table. The dark green bottle of very dark Jamaican rum was a special one he had been saving for a special occasion; overproof and potent, it was not an everyday drink. He did not remember immediately why he had fetched it out and picked up the bottle to aid his memory.

As he turned the bottle around in his hands, the sunlight caught the dark glass and it flamed suddenly to a much lighter vivid green. In fact, a very familiar shade of green he had seen staring back at him under a Commodore's fancy hat and wig; abruptly he recalled it was yesterday when the blasted man had decided to make his ghostly presence known. Jack told himself firmly that the whole episode had been nothing more than his imagination at work and that the rum merely oiled the mental machinery; all the while knowing that he was lying to himself. He should be so lucky to have a haunt aboard and why ever would it not be that bloody Commodore? Sometimes he really had to wonder about Dame Fortune's interest in him and where she was planning to go with it all. If this was a sample of her work, he was unimpressed.

Thinking of the late Commodore, Jack surreptitiously looked around his cabin and sleeping quarters. He just knew the man had to be watching, or whatever it was he was capable of doing, just to make an honest pirate's life miserable. Unable to catch a hint of the undead scourge, Jack straightened up a bit and nodded sharply to himself, hoping that the fellow had taken himself off somewhere to bother others. On that note, he headed out to the deck to check on the Pearl this morning and to have a word with Gibbs about sailing matters and to get some breakfast from the galley.

Once out into the bright sunlight, Jack began to feel much better. The episode yesterday when he had conversed with Norrington must surely have been a figment of his tired mind, reward for spending so much time doing the thrice-cursed accounts, necessary evils that they were. He took his breakfast and made himself comfortable on the stairs leading up to the quarterdeck, enjoying the simple porridge and one of his favourite bananas. Feeling much better about life in general, Jack headed up to see how the helmsman was faring; not that he was worried, Cotton had a kind hand for the Pearl and would treat her as befitted her.

"Good morning, Mr. Cotton…and Mr. Cotton's Parrot. How are things this fine morning?"

Cotton looked over to Sparrow and smiled, his grizzled whiskers creased by the deep wrinkles beneath the furze. He did not see the need for words at the moment and Parrot was more interested in the bits of shiny silver in Jack's braids, glinting as they were in the hot morning sun. Not all pirates had human form and the bird was just as much a thief as the ship's captain and if the pretty bits came close enough, then Parrot would seize the opportune moment. If Jack's ear or braids happened to be attached at the other end of whatever the large black beak had clamped down on, then that would be just too bad.

Luckily for Jack, he turned away at just the moment Parrot made his play for a silver ear ring, hearing the loud clack beside his ear as the beak chomped down on air. Jumping back reflexively, Jack shook an irate fist at the large bird.

"You do not, I repeat, do not make grabs at your captain, you poor excuse for a bird. The next time you try a stunt like that, I'll be having parrot stew for dinner and that's a promise."

Jack was almost beside himself in fury at this latest attempt on his person by the wretched creature. He knew Cotton needed the fiend to communicate for him, to be his companion and all that, but still! He would not really make Parrot into stew and deprive Cotton of his helpmate, probably too tough anyway, but something had to be done about the beast.

Cotton for his part looked horrified by his pet's action and tried to draw back from the captain, encouraging the bird to come over to the shoulder furthest from Sparrow. He was reasonably certain that Parrot would not be summarily executed but decided he really needed to have some support from others more fluent. Looking around, he caught Gibbs' eye and tried to ask the man to join them at the helm with eye-rolling and jerks of his chin prior to hanging his head in mute dismay.

Gibbs had had to referee between parrot and pirate on prior occasions so he was not overly surprised to be called upon this morning. He grabbed the rail and swung up the gangway to join the others, his practiced eye telling him clearly that there had been yet another incident. He managed to hold back a sigh but checked his waistcoat to reassure himself that his trusted flask was close to hand; he had a feeling he would be needing a drink once all the ruffled feathers were soothed.

"All right now. Who's going to tell me what happened this time? John Cotton, I might as well start with you as you're more likely to tell me true."

Gibbs wasted no time in separating the combatants far enough so that neither could reach the other without going through him. Patiently, he listened to all sides of the story and had to admit to himself that Jack did have some cause for upset. Diplomatically, he suggested that in future, Jack should be careful how close he came to Parrot. Parrot, he told to leave Jack's sparklies alone as they were not for him or her to take without asking. Cotton, he just asked to keep a closer eye on his pet when the captain was near. Satisfied that he had covered all possibilities, Gibbs drew out his flask and had a short swig to indicate he was finished with this round.

During all the commotion, Norrington had been very quietly observing from his perch on the rail beside the great stern lanterns. He was quite fascinated with this glimpse into the daily operations of a pirate ship even if he was convinced the Black Pearl, her captain and her crew, were not like any others he had ever dreamt of encountering. The whole thing with the bird trying to make off with some of Sparrow's shiny baubles, with Sparrow still attached, was hilarious. The subsequent diplomatic negotiations by Gibbs made him snort with laughter, the familiar brown leather flask bringing back memories of the passage from England all those years ago.

"It's bad luck to have parrots stealing from their captains, mark my words."

"_Consider them marked, Mr. Gibbs."_

Gibbs paused, his flask held in mid-air, his face perplexed.

"Did you hear summat just now, Jack?"

"Hear what, Joshamee?" Jack absently answered with a question, his mind still on the outrage so nearly perpetrated upon his personal adornments by the foul fiend (or fiendish fowl).

Cotton looked at his friend, his face carefully blank. The bird for once refrained from making one of its cryptic utterances. Gibbs continued, certain in his own mind that the pair had heard something as well. He met Jack's eyes and went on, wondering what his captain's response would be now that he was paying more attention.

"Coulda swore I heard someone say something I've not heard in years."

"What are you going on about, Gibbs?" Jack looked at his sailing master, drawing his brows down into an apprehensive frown, suspicious where this conversation was heading.

"Well, Jack, when I was just saying about marking my words, I thought I heard someone say 'consider them marked, Mr. Gibbs.'"

"And that would be strange, how?" Jack really did not want to hear the answer he was certain was coming, swaying back from the older man as far as he could without moving his feet.

"The only one what ever said that to me was Commodore Norrington, back when he was just a lieutenant. Problem is, he's gone and died months ago so it couldn't be him, could it now?"

The silence on the quarterdeck was abruptly deafening. Cotton kept his eyes fixed on the horizon and refused to meet anyone's eyes, Parrot buried a beak under a wing to preen a feather that needed urgent tending and Jack, well, Jack was indescribable. Not even Joshamee Gibbs could find words to do justice to Jack's expression. Gibbs glanced around at all three of them and then down to the main deck, satisfying himself that there really was nothing out of the ordinary around them. Puzzled, he turned around and checked the rest of the quarterdeck in case he had missed some clue to the puzzle.

Throughout all this, Norrington had remained on his perch, content to stay there and take in the entertainment. It was fascinating that Gibbs had heard his comment and identified him correctly. Cotton and his parrot were likely aware of his presence as well as the cat, Sparrow and the Black Pearl herself. He wondered how many more aboard would be able to sense him. Maybe the way it worked was that some could see and hear him and others with less ability would only be aware of bits. Possibly he could find a way to direct his essence toward a particular individual and make contact. He really did not want to harm anyone but he was learning to enjoy being a ghost of some ilk. He had been such a serious, duty bound chap for so long; he surely deserved to have some fun now that he was dead but apparently not quite gone.

TBC

23


	2. Part the Fourth

**A Spirit from the Vasty Deep**

Disclaimer: belong to the Mouse, not mine, other than the occasional original character and situation.

Rating: PG 13

**Part the Fourth**

By the time the sun was at its zenith, Jack had had enough. He had taken over the helm from Cotton and banished the rest of the idle layabouts from the quarterdeck so he could think things through in relative peace. The Pearl felt lively under his hand and seemed to be playing games with the wind and the ocean, almost dancing as she swept along through the waves. At least someone was enjoying the present situation.

She apparently approved of the current ghostly presence aboard and he was confounded by her complacency. He would have believed any hint of another undead dead person should have put her back up and made life unpleasant for whatever had dared to haunt her. Instead, she seemed to have taken a liking to the once-Commodore in his new state. It was apparent even the blasted cat was enamoured of the Navy man's shade. All it would take was winning Anamaria over to give Norrington a clean sweep of all the females on board, woman, feline and ship. Jack paused at that thought, maybe Gibbs had the right of it after all.

As was Jack's custom, he was carrying on this private conversation in low tones, talking to his ship and himself in equal amounts, caressing the smooth wood of the oaken wheel as he felt the winds aloft and the sea below through his communion with her. It was a marvelous day, aside from the spectral nonsense, and he found himself relaxing and starting to softly hum as he made the small adjustments to keep his ship at her peak performance. It would be another hour before they had to change headings for the run into Tortuga, no ships were in sight and nothing was left to do other than enjoy himself.

Restored to good humour, Jack began to sing the words to the song running through his head, smiling as he remembered the night Elizabeth had taught it to him. She had not yet torched the rum for her rescue beacon and he had been quite the gentleman, abstaining pillaging what had been laid out for him so blatantly. Someday he might forgive and forget about the rum.

"Yo, ho, yo, ho, a pirate's life for me,"

Jack warbled away, perfectly happy to sing the same words over and over again. His crew had tired of the song long ago and only brought it out for special occasions nowadays but Jack had taken to the song and loved it. His tendency to repeat ad nauseum the same verse or two plus the refrain was useful in keeping the crew, namely Anamaria, at a distance so it was quite practical in addition to being properly piratical.

"_That's very well for you, Sparrow, but I am not a pirate nor do I have any plans to become one. Don't you know any other songs?"_

The voice was back, as snide and critical as it ever had been. Jack closed his eyes tightly and scrunched his face up in disgust before bothering to reply.

"I did not ask for your opinion, Norrington. If you don't like my song, then go away somewheres where you can't hear it."

"_Tsk, tsk, a bit touchy, are we? I was merely asking a simple question of you."_

"You'd be touchy too, if it was you on the Dauntless and I was the ghost haunting you on your quarterdeck. Besides which, I did not say you could be up here pestering me."

"_Perhaps that could be on account I neglected to ask your permission, do you think?"_

Ye Gods, even as a ghost, the Commodore retained his smarmy tones and nobbish delivery. Jack could almost be impressed, had it been someone else being haunted. Norrington had had a fine voice in life, whether in ordinary circumstances or commanding his forces. Jack had noticed its intriguing ranges and nuances; when the Commodore spoke to Elizabeth that time, his heart was so obviously in his voice and eyes. Harder to hate the man when one saw something like that although the hemp rope around his neck had almost persuaded him otherwise. At least, that was before Norrington had chosen to come back from the dead and turn up on the Black Pearl. Jack still had difficulty understanding how the situation had come about; must have been that warm voice that had lured the Pearl and the cat into the man's camp. Must have been.

Sighing, Jack knew he would not be able to fight his ship over this ghost business and it was not as if the Commodore had a corporeal body to get in the way any longer. He decided to see if the snotty Naval officer would condescend to come down to a pirate's level and parley. He called down to Anamaria to come up and take over the helm as he had to go down to his cabin to check some headings. She looked up at him and scowled a bit before dropping the splicing she had almost finished back into its bucket and did as he asked. Jack frequently gauged her temper by the degree and style of scowl his bosun glared at him; this one wasn't too bad, actually, so he just bowed her to the helm and made his escape below.

Once Jack had safely shut and locked the doors behind him, he called out quietly to see if the spectre had taken the hint and come down from the upper deck with him.

"Commodore? You here yet?"

Silence.

"Norrington! Where are you?"

Why could not the man have the decency to at least show up when he was wanted? Jack felt the exasperation growing by the minute. He decided to engage some help in getting his nemesis here to talk.

"Pearl, my darlin', would you please be asking your Commodore to join me here if he has nothing better to do with all that time he has on his hands, now that he's dead?"

Jack could feel the quicksilver laughter of the Pearl ripple through the deck beneath his feet. Fine; how nice that someone found this entire situation humorous. He glowered out the stern window whilst he waited for the other to condescend to make his presence known to a mere mortal such as Jack.

The sound of footsteps slowly approaching him made his stomach churn but he refused to turn around just to see vacant space. Then the voice spoke as it seemed to come up behind him and then step around his port side. Its altitude seemed to lower a mite as well, almost as if someone had taken a seat upon the cushioned bench below the stern windows.

"_I am here as you wished, Sparrow. The Pearl most kindly passed along your invitation."_

"Taking your ease in my cabin, are you, Norrington? Took you long enough to get here."

"_Your wish is my command, Jack. I merely obeyed."_

Jack huffed a lip at where he believed the Commodore to be sitting, before abruptly swinging around on his heel and went over to drag the nearest chair back to the windows. He adamantly refused to stand whilst Norrington lolled about. Jack was a captain too and, furthermore, he was the only one of the two of them still alive and breathing. He restrained himself from acknowledging the amused snort he heard from the region of the bench.

"I want to have a parley with you, Norrington. I don't know what you're going on about, haunting my ship and myself, so please be so good as to explain what you want of us."

"_I would if I could. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I was lost in these strange mists, quite unaware of things, and gradually pictures began to form. A large dark vessel appeared from time to time until the last time when she halted her journey and spoke to me. We had a conversation and the gist of it is that I became a passenger of sorts and continued with her on her travels." _

"That tells me how you got aboard but what are you _doing _here?"

"_You could be a trifle clearer, you know, Sparrow. It's not as if you are wholly incapable of forming a proper inquiry."_

"Again with the insults. It is Captain Sparrow, or just Jack, if you must be informal, and I'll thank you to remember that little detail."

"_Well, I suppose I could call you just Jack, although that does seem a bit personal, you know. A trifle forward as well, as we have never been introduced formally."_

"You are a ghost haunting my ship and you're worried about propriety, are you? I'm tired of this constant fight to get you to acknowledge my rank appropriately. After all, I did address you by your Navy rank, now, didn't I, Commodore James L. Norrington?" Jack was aggrieved and it showed in his voice, a definite whine beginning to settle in.

Norrington almost felt a touch of guilt about deviling the man. Sparrow had done his best to help deal with his mutinous former undead crew and that Barbossa character. It had not even been Sparrow's fault that Elizabeth had not seen fit to keep her vow to marry him, tossing him aside so publicly for young Turner. It had taken quite a bit of fortitude on his part to accept the young pair and to see them again as friend. Norrington was enough of a realist to see the writing on the wall and generous enough to want to keep his friends. They had all the faults and follies of youth but had the potential to outgrow all that and become interesting people. He truly did like both of them and admired them for some part, if not all, of their actions toward him.

"_Very well, man, I could see my way to calling you something or other. Which appellation would you prefer that I use?" _

For a moment, Jack held his tongue and merely looked at the bench where he thought the Commodore was sitting. This capitulation had been too easy but he had no idea what the fellow or ghost was up to. He decided for now to go for the simple answer and wait to see what happened next. No point in courting disaster just yet.

"Seeing as how you're making yourself free with my ship and my cabin and my cat, I suppose you might as well call me Jack. You can save the Captain Sparrow for more formal occasions." Jack figured this put matters squarely in Norrington's court.

"_As you wish. I suppose I can manage to do so, even though I am more accustomed to using Sparrow by itself when referring to you, Jack."_

"Now that I've given you leave to use my name, I don't see as how I should have to address you as Commodore all the time. Tit for tat, as they say, James."

"_Why would I object, Jack? It is, after all, my name and it is not as if I am still a Commodore in the Royal or any other Navy that I know of. At present I am merely another civilian going about his business."_

"And that's another thing, James, you are not part of this crew nor do you have any say in the running of this ship. You are just along for a free ride and I expect you to keep out of the crew's way. I don't know why you're suddenly making your presence known, or how you're doing it, but I won't stand for any interference from you. Mind your manners and I'll allow you to stay aboard for the time being."

"_Fair enough. However, I would have said the Black Pearl was the more obvious creature to request permission from for me to stay, considering that she was the one who gave me leave to board in the first place."_

Jack scrunched his eyes shut in disgust. He could feel the vein in his forehead begin to throb as a massive headache began to develop. If it progressed in the manner he anticipated, he would have to find his bosun and see if she had any willow bark in her quarters. For the time being, he made do with massaging his temples and trying to regulate his breathing to calm himself. Norrington was going to be trouble with a capital "T," he was convinced of it right down to his piratey little toes squirming in his boots.

"_Your head troubling you, Jack?"_

Even as a ghost, James could be condescending, if just for the fun of seeing Jack's reactions. He wondered idly if he would become more substantial as time passed; if so, he might be able to have physical abilities to experiment with upon the hapless pirate captain. The cat certainly seemed to respond to his touch when he scratched her chin and she had had no hesitation in scraping along his leg.

"Why ever would my head be troubling me, eh? Can't think of any reason for it to do so, the wind's fair, the ship is sailing well and I have a ghost in my cabin."

"_Perhaps you should lie down for a little while, then, Jack. I hear that is often of use in settling a megrim."_

James was all solicitude and courtesy. His mother and childhood nurse would be pleased to know that he had not forgotten his early training; Jack would now be the beneficiary of their insistence upon proper manners, although James did not believe they could have had this situation in mind when he was a boy. They had never said so in his hearing, at any rate.

Jack almost snarled at that comment, or at least, he would have had his head not begun to throb mercilessly. He was ready to take the advice but was not willing to admit it to Norrington. With that in mind, he wanted to finish the conversation as quickly as possible and banish the spectre from his cabin so he could lie down without having a witness. To make matters worse, his belly was beginning to gripe from the pain in his head and his eyes hurt from the bright light reflecting in off the sea.

"For now, James, you shall mind your manners whilst you are aboard, nor will you interfere with the ship, the crew or the cat or anything else. You shall also mind your manners when referring to me, either using my rank of Captain or calling me by my Christian name of Jack. I will determine what other rules are needed as we go along. Until the time you remove yourself from this ship and my life, you will be a decently behaved ghost and not go about upsetting everyone. Do we have an accord, then?"

"_An accord? I remember hearing about the Code pirates purport to live by. Is this part of it, then?" _

"Of course, it is, man. Now do you agree or do you not?"

"_I agree to the conditions as you have laid them out, Jack"_

"Good. Now get out of my cabin and leave me in peace. I've had about enough of ghosts for a while."

"_Since you ask so nicely, I shall take my leave and go elsewhere."_

Suspicious, Jack wondered why Norrington was being so obliging but his head was now truly paining him to the point of nausea. He had to assume the late Commodore was a man, ah, a ghost, of his word and would do as he promised and clear out. Jack waited for a couple of minutes before asking the thin air if James was still in the cabin. He received no answer and decided that he most likely was alone for now.

He wet a cloth with water from the jug and tottered over to his bunk, scattering his coat, waistcoat and boots across the deck as he went. The hat he tossed at the table but missed his aim. He retained enough presence of mind to pull the sheathed knife out and place it on the side cabinet along with the heavy leather belt and sash before he crawled into bed, moaning most mournfully. The wet cloth he placed over his eyes and he concentrated on convincing his stomach that it really was much happier than it was making out. He had the nasty feeling that this megrim was only the first of a long line that would be heading his way, thanks to yet another undead whatsit deciding to make itself at home on the Pearl.

7


	3. Part the Fifth

Plot bunny put up for adoption by Order of Chaos, found while passing by, moved in under the table and made itself to home, gnawing on the table legs. Like I needed another one. Temporary title was 'A Haunting We Will Go'but I changed it. Title is adapted from Shakespeare, with apologies. (_Glyndwr; Act 3, Scene 1; 1 Henry IV)_

**The Bunny #49**

James dies, becomes a ghost (can be seen by cats and the psychically inclined) and ends up haunting the Black Pearl, who, incidentally, had rather missed having the undead around and was glad to have him. Her Captain was another matter.

Disclaimer: anything other than original characters belong to the Kingdom of the Mouse, worse luck, and no profit will ever be made from this. Enough of this nonsense, on to the story.

Rating: PG13 probably, several bad words.

xoxoxoxoxoxox

**A Spirit from the Vasty Deep:**

**Part the Fifth**

Norrington headed back out to the deck to enjoy the voyage. It had been entertaining teasing Jack; he would have to think of something to pull on the man. It had been quite a while since he had indulged in pranks and the like and he felt that a bit of refreshment to his skills was in order. He was not certain how much effect he would be able to exert upon the physical realm at present but he should be able to cobble something together in the non-corporeal.

For the moment, James elected to make a round of the decks, just to ensure all was being performed correctly. It was something he had always enjoyed doing and saw no reason to not continue with the practice merely because he was among the deceased. He really did not have any concerns about how the Black Pearl was being handled but old habits said to always see for oneself and it was a little something he could do to return the ship's courtesy in permitting him aboard.

He had wandered along to the galley where the cook was attending to his potions and rituals when he was rejoined by the large tortoiseshell cat as she had just finished her meal. He was not surprised to find her in the cook's domain as her substantial bulk did suggest she was very fond of her dinner. She came up by his foot and indicated she wished him to attend her, patting his ankle with a paw and calling up to him. He saw no reason not to oblige the lady and did as she had ordered, first bending down to stroke several times along her back and up the fluffy tail, scratching lightly over her hips. Crouched down in pleasure, tail end high, she rewarded his attentions by a sudden twist to bite at his hand in fond possessiveness; fortunately he was not yet substantial enough for her to damage his skin.

Chiding her lightly for the attempted nip, Norrington chanced to look up to see the cook watching the cat's performance and turn surprisingly ashen for a man with such a dark complexioned face. It would seem that his presence was distressing the man's sensibilities somewhat. Norrington would have liked to apologize for causing the distress but he was convinced the cook would not appreciate hearing a voice coming from thin air. He straightened up from his cat stroking and quietly made his exit from the galley, thinking perhaps the cook would be more relaxed about the Commodore's presence on a later date. The cat remained in the galley in hope of receiving another tidbit from her personal cook; after all, she had brought the man several rewards from her hunts on other occasions so it was only fair.

Anamaria had the helm duty so Norrington decided to go up and observe how she handled the ship. He had seen her about the ship and was curious to see how a woman would handle a large complex vessel such as the Black Pearl. He stood in front of the wheel and looked closely at her, admiring the comely features and form clad in men's clothing. He might not consider the garments fit for a lady but he could not deny their practical application for such a role. He had a sudden memory of Elizabeth in a marine's uniform; quite fetching if a bit shocking to the ship's company. He would have been interested to have seen her upset the mavens of Port Royal society; there would have been much twittering and finger pointing but Elizabeth would have sailed onward regardless.

He wondered idly what his former fiancée was up to now, probably leading her young husband and her father a merry chase. She had always been headstrong and hot to hand; maybe young Turner had found a way to steady her somewhat, although he had shown the odd kick in his step as well. For all the chap had pirate in his blood, it was his wife who was the true pirate in their little family. He smiled in remembrance; life around Elizabeth would never be dull. Perhaps once they had started their nursery, the headstrong young woman would learn to be a trifle more circumspect in her actions around Port Royal's judgmental society.

He walked around Anamaria to take up position to her left so he could watch her hands on the wheel as she made the adjustments to guide the Pearl's movements through wind and wave. It took strength as well as sensitivity to do the task well and it would appear that the Pearl and her helmswoman worked well together. It was also a fact that the young island woman was not difficult to look at, at least when she was not glaring fit to shatter mirrors. He thought she would have to be very capable to hold her own among a crew of men and would have to have the fierceness and strength of personality to counter her slim build. He was curious about her story, how she had come to be a sailor and to the Pearl, he would inquire of the ship when they conversed next. For the moment, Norrington was quite content to be where he was.

He stood beside her for the rest of the watch, approving her expertise under current conditions. He would reserve his judgment until he had had occasion to witness Anamaria's guidance and control of the Black Pearl in heavier weather. He mentioned to the Pearl that the ship was fortunate in her helmsmen, and woman; all appeared to not only be competent but respectful of her person. He felt the ship's satisfaction with his compliment manifest as a surging lift into the waves, the Pearl's pleasure bringing a matching smile to Anamaria's face. The Commodore thought the young woman's appearance was much improved by the absence of the habitual fierce scowl that drew her face into such harsh lines.

The watch changed and Jack did not make an appearance. Norrington began to wonder if he should go by and check on the man or if it would be better to just let him sleep off the headache brought on by a ghostly passenger. He decided his presence would not be appreciated in the cabin below, besides he was content where he was. The time for the watch change came and the very minute sailor clambered up to the quarterdeck and waited until the sand in the hourglass ran through. Reversing the glass, the sailor then rang the ship's bell briskly to signal the crew. Marty walked over to the rail and hollered down amidships to hurry along the other tar supposed stand the watch with him.

Norrington was fascinated by the small man. The single beard braid with its mandatory bead, the tattoos, the garb, all showed the influence of one Jack Sparrow. James had seen dwarves before but never one who served as a regular crewman; he had watched Marty work at a number of tasks about the Black Pearl. Most of the time, the little man managed to hold his own but occasionally his stature worked against him. Norrington treasured the first time he had seen Marty haul away on a sheet in the midst of several other men. There had been several moments when he was hanging suspended from the manila, swinging madly feet above the deck; once his feet touched down on the deck again, he pulled right along with the rest of them.

This watch, Marty was teamed with the one called Kursar, The taller fellow took the upper part of the wheel and the more diminutive sailor grasped the wheel in the vicinity of Norrington's kneecaps. James grinned widely at the sight and then left the pair to their duty. He had no place in mind to be for the time being so he strolled along the deck until he came to the rail above the starboard cathead. He rested his elbows on the dark wood and stared out at the sea, marking the early stars beginning to show in the darkening sky.

The night came quickly in these lower latitudes and sometimes he found himself nostalgic for the long twilights of his native soil. He looked upward, picking out the constellations and naming them from long habit, smiling at some he considered to be old friends, others faithful points from which to navigate. Thinking about navigation, James recollected that odd compass Sparrow had seemed so enamoured of. In fact, the worn box was still attached to the man's broad belt with his other effects. He wondered what the story of the thing was and thought that the Black Pearl might be able to cast some light on the subject.

"_Madame Pearl, would you happen to be able to spare some time to converse with me? I would understand, of course, if your duties deny you the freedom to do so at this moment."_

"_There is no pressing matter for me to attend to for the present; all is as it should be. What do you wish to talk about this evening, Commodore?"_

"_I've been observing the stars and thinking about matters of navigation and remembered that most peculiar compass that your captain is so determined to retain possession of. Do you happen to know its story?"_

"_Some of it I know, the rest only my captain knows for certain."_

"_When I first encountered Sparrow, he had that compass with him. It seemed to be broken and incapable of pointing north. I now wonder if it is not a broken tool but rather one that has another sort of tale altogether." _James felt that this was an opportunity to unearth a bit more information about his unwilling host. He took pleasure in his conversations with the ship and this evening was bidding to be a quiet one requiring little other than plain sailing for a time; the sea was moderate and the winds fair and steady.

"_The compass is a thing of the past. Jack acquired it years ago when we both were young. It was off the coast of the island of the bull in the great warm sea to the east of here, far beyond the Pillars, where he came across it."_

James' attention was now well and truly caught. The ship had said Sparrow and she had been together when "both" were young; he was aware that Jack was some years older than he himself had been but he had had no idea how far back the history of ship and man might be. The other clues hinted at the eastern Mediterranean, far beyond Gibraltar and the Pillars of Hercules. The island of the bull, that could be Crete, if the old tales held any degree of truth. He wondered just when the two had first joined; the Black Pearl was a unique ship and Jack Sparrow had seen a good lot of water under his keel for all his seemingly ageless appearance.

"_What were you doing in those waters, may I ask? The far side of the Mediterranean is not where I would have expected to find either of you."_

"_What we always do, of course, seek out treasures wherever they may hide."_

"_What sort of treasure took you so far away, almost to the Holy Land itself?"_

"_Not all treasure is silver or gold, sometimes we look for other kinds. That time, Jack had heard a tale in Morocco about a map and records of a Turkish sailor."_

"_A Turkish sailor, you say?" _There was only the one Turkish sailor James could think of whose name associated with a map could have lured the likes of Jack Sparrow into risking those dangerous waters.

"_The one who was an admiral long ago."_

"_I can see how that would pique Jack's interest. What happened then?"_

"_Jack very cleverly found where one of the maps was hidden and managed to get a copy of part of it. The guards around that building were not the brightest but there were enough of them so that even my captain had to take what he could and get out while he still was able." _

The Black Pearl's pride in her captain's ingenuity and overall sneakiness came through clearly in her mental voice. Despite wanting to laugh at the comment, James carefully refrained from showing his amusement; pirate and pirate ship, it seemed there was not much to choose between them at times.

"_Sounds like Jack. What happened to the copy he was able to acquire? I've not heard of any ventures of Sparrow's that could connect with the Turk."_

"_The mutiny happened and life changed."_

"_Ah, I see a bit more clearly now. I shan't trouble you further on this occasion, given that we are arrived back at Barbossa. Someday perhaps you would be kind enough to relate more of that time as I only know a few stories plus what I observed when we met up that first time. There are certainly other things we can converse about that do not cause distress for you."_

"_Thank you, James, you are ever the gentleman."_

xoxoxoxoxoxox

A/N Many thanks to those who have taken the time to review this little story, your feedback really makes my day! I hope I can continue to make you smile a bit.


	4. Part the Sixth

**A Spirit from the Vasty Deep**

Rating: PG

Warning: this is a ghost story so there has been a character death but not angsty or sad

Disclaimer: the Mouse owns. I don't. Very sad.

Several days passed without untoward events, nothing supernatural or undead in any particulars deigned to make its presence known. Jack was beginning to relax and not hunch up his neck and shoulders every time he heard odd thumps and knocks about his cabin or throughout his ship. He recognized them as the usual sounds he was accustomed to hearing, helping him to judge the state of his ship by her sounds as she flexed and bent to wind and wave. He had not heard voices in thin air or in his mind, not even the Black Pearl had seen fit to disturb his peace and quiet, let alone that blasted Commodore.

He went about his daily business, plotting courses, overseeing the crew, plundering a passing vessel what took his fancy, dreaming of treasure, reading his favourite books. The very normalcy he was beginning to find quite soothing. Now as long as the ghost who had decided to embark upon the Black Pearl took himself off to wherever such spirits were supposed to go, Jack would count himself content with life. The niggling little detail of the Pearl doing the inviting persisted in disturbing his peace of mind. She was a fickle hussy at times, he was beginning to think, and now to be enamoured of a cipher in blue and brocade was a bit much, to his way of thinking.

He was at the helm again when that last thought drifted through his head. Whatever else the Commodore had been in life, cipher was not a fair description of the man. Norrington had taken his duties seriously but was more than just a fancy uniform and ridiculous wig. Jack could see a fine ship like his beloved Pearl taking an interest in an equally fine sailor and she was a pirate ship, accustomed to taking what she wanted. Maybe it had been all that gold bullion about Norrington's person that had attracted her covetous eye. There certainly had been enough of the stuff that day they first met on the docks. Jack frowned in mild confusion; the Pearl had not seen the Commodore in his fancy rig, at least that he knew of, so where did she set eyes on the man?

Jack recollected, almost against his will, the incidents between young Missy Swann and her once upon a time betrothed. It had turned out well enough in the end for the girl and young Bootstrap but it had come at a high cost to Norrington, in emotion as well as dignity. For all his shortcomings, the Scourge truly had not deserved such treatment and had shown himself uncommon generous toward the youngsters, not to mention a certain scallywag of a pirate. Reminded that he now had the shade of the late Scourge somewhere aboard the Black Pearl, Jack attempted to remove him from his thoughts lest he draw the little ghostie back from wherever it had been keeping itself. He continued on, muttering quietly to himself as was his fashion.

"Wonderful, now you're getting all sentimental and sympathetic to the man. With your sort of luck, you'll be haunted by him for the rest of your days. Maybe that fella in the prison had the right of it, after all, about your luck."

Jack paused for a moment to ponder the subject of luck, particularly his own, and decided that his was actually good luck, seeing as he had the Pearl back, his neck was unstretched and he possessed the uncursed part of the treasure from the Isla de Muerta. Perhaps it would not be so difficult to deal with the ghost of one dead Commodore; surely it could not be any worse than Barbossa and his lot of miscreants. He was determined that spectre and ship should heed, obey and respect the captain of the ship and since that captain was his own fine self, then he would just have to see that they did a proper job of it. He left the feline and Anamaria out of the equation; even Captain Jack Sparrow had limits.

xoxoxoxoxox

Unbeknownst to the aforementioned Captain Jack Sparrow, he had been under observation for most of his watch at the helm. Norrington had been entertained watching the expressions flow and change across his host's mobile face, much like watching the shadows of clouds racing across the hills and mountains. James was coming to recognize what Jack was thinking, or his moods, by what was reflected in the eyes and mouth. One moment Jack was pensive and far away, almost still, then the sly calculating expression appeared followed swiftly by sadness, surprise and more. The hands were part and parcel of how Jack expressed himself, even when he was steering, one or the other long-fingered hand would swoop and swirl in counterpoint.

It was perfectly obvious when Sparrow had come to his conclusion and had formulated his plans when the satisfied smirk was joined by the fingers primping the dark moustache, twirling the ends to jaunty points. It was all James could do to keep from laughing out loud; it was much more fun to observe his subject while it remained oblivious. He had been leaning up against the rail far enough away so his presence would not be felt by Jack. He had allowed several days for his quarry to calm down and determined sufficient time had passed and Jack could be reminded of his passenger. James felt a swirl of amusement from the Black Pearl; she knew her pirate love would not be harmed by her naval friend so she would enjoy the play and not interfere.

Norrington slipped through the walls into the great cabin and gazed around. Jack had most considerately left some books and charts spread out across the table so James stood for a while and looked at the details in the maps. He had always appreciated a fine map and the skills and observations that went into it, no wonder that as he had depended upon such things throughout his career. Jack had penciled in notations all around the islands, similar to what he had done on his own charts; typical navigators both, they expanded the charts with their own findings.

Leaving the maps for now, James shifted his attention to the books. Jack's tastes were every bit as eclectic as the rest of him and the current selection he had out ranged from Machiavelli's Il Principe, satires from Horace and a small volume of Donne's poetry, all in their original languages. Jack presented the world with a rogue and pirate but kept the scholar's presence closely confined to his personal quarters. Definitely he was a man of many parts. James recognized some of his own favourite works on the bookshelves built into the forward bulkhead but most of Jack's precious books were stowed away with loving care in a heavy ironbound trunk.

The Commodore had been practicing and expanding his ghostly facilities here and there around the ship, away from crew members. He had no desire to upset them unnecessarily, they were only trying to do their jobs, but he had no such qualms about disturbing the rats down in the holds. He remembered the creatures from his first voyage as a midshipman and had continued to hate them ever since. They were bothered by his presence, chittering and scratching when he was near; he saw the gleam from their eyes sometimes if they were near a light source. If he concentrated, he could make them shift away nervously but they did not respond to him as the cat did and he thought they could not really see him. He could not say honestly he was disappointed by that failure.

James decided to attempt flipping the pages in the book that had been left propped open; the binding had relaxed with use and wear over the years and looked promising for his experiment. He had always preferred Horace's more gentle satire to Juvenal's spiteful venom and as Jack had considerately started things for him, James wanted to be able to read the next passage for his own pleasure. He missed having books to enjoy and perhaps at some point he and Sparrow could arrive at a sort of arrangement, or accord as the pirates said, allowing James to have access to the books. He would have to be careful therefore in his haunting of Jack Sparrow, he would not want to endanger future benefits for the sake of poor planning.

The Commodore approached the table and studied the problem from all angles, much as he had done when considering naval strategies. He did not know if he would be able to move a page in the same manner as he had when more corporeal or if he would have to resort to other means, perhaps blowing on it to get the paper into action. James decided what seemed to be the most promising direction and reached out, hesitating for an instant before trying to catch the edge of the page. His fingers passed through the paper with no effect so he stepped back and thought for a moment and decided he needed to think very hard that his hand had real substance and would be perfectly able to turn over such a lightweight object.

Frowning heavily in determined concentration, James reached out to the book and closed his eyes, imagining in his mind that his fingers were raising the page and turning it, neatly patting it down so that it would stay. He could almost feel the paper but had to steel himself to open his eyes and look down to see if he had in fact accomplished the deed. To his pleased astonishment, he had succeeded in his endeavour and the page was turned to the next passage as he had wished. So, that was the trick of it, then, to see in his mind's eye the reality of what he was trying to touch. This definitely had possibilities. He smiled in satisfaction at his accomplishment and newly found skill.

James knew he would need to practice but for the moment he would indulge in being able to read again for the first time since his demise. Back when he was alive, James would have sat at the table and spent a happy hour just reading and enjoying the flights of imagination or insight the authors may have used. Considering that Sparrow was at the helm for a while, James saw no difficulty in practicing his page turning and reacquainting himself with Horace. The heavy armchair was conveniently placed by the table so James sat himself down; he might not actually need to sit but to him it was a part of the whole experience of reading in a civilized fashion so he made the effort to at least appear alive.

He was still seated there, happily reading Jack's books when their owner entered his cabin after the watch change. James started a trifle guiltily and rapidly left the table for the far side of the cabin, taking his favourite spot on the bench beneath the stern windows. Fortunately he vacated his spot before Jack sat down; he had no idea what would happen if the two of them suddenly occupied the same space. Most of the crew just passed through his non-physical body but Jack was more aware of his presence than the others and growing more so with each encounter.

Jack dropped into his chair and reached for a banana in the dish on the table, leaning back and putting his booted feet on to the heavy mahogany top. He loved bananas, one of the things he appreciated most about the tropics, and he peeled this one down lovingly before taking a large bite. Chewing in pleasure, he relaxed and looked at the book he had been reading earlier, noticing that it was not at the page he had left it at. He stopped masticating and sat up, his boot heels striking the deck loudly, to inspect the books on the table more closely. It was quite clear someone had been at them and he knew none of the crew would do such a thing. That left only one other person aboard who would value these books for what they were and who would have the audacious cheek to make use of them. Jack frowned in displeasure, looking around to see if his nemesis was still at the scene of his crime, not that he could see the man...ghost…haunt…or whatever he was supposed to be now.

"I know you're around here somewheres, Norrington. You've been at my books and you didn't even trouble yourself to ask permission first. You know how a man's things are private aboard a ship and you still broke that code. Shame on you."

Norrington had to admit Jack had a point, albeit a rather odd one coming from a man who was a pirate and who took such inordinate pride in his vocation. He decided that perhaps a touch of conciliation would not be remiss at this juncture if he ever wanted to have access to those books again so he spoke up.

"_My apologies, Jack. It has been quite some time since I was able to indulge in the simple pleasure of reading and I simply could not restrain myself. You were kind enough to have left the Horace out and open and I have always enjoyed his writings."_

Jack continued to frown; he figured the apology was genuine but was not about to cede forgiveness so easily. He stood and stretched, reaching for his books and neatly piling them before he picked the lot up and went over to the massive chest where he kept such treasures. He hauled up the lid and carefully stowed the precious volumes inside before closing the lid and locking the padlock. The ghost might have learned how to turn a page of a book but Jack was pretty certain it would take a lot more effort to get at his books now. He thought that it was a reasonable punishment for Norrington making free with Jack's belongings.

Norrington was of quite a different mind altogether from the pirate captain. The deliberate locking up of the books, including the one he had been reading with such enjoyment, was excessive insulting in his mind; surely Jack could understand the lure of the books to one who had been denied such comforts for however long it had been. He frowned in growing displeasure; the other was virtually declaring a challenge to the once-Commodore, taunting him actually. Until James learned more about his abilities, those books may as well be on the moon. Well, he would see to acquiring the skills he now needed and whilst he was at it, he decided a bit of comeuppance for the birdbrain was in order.

TBC


	5. Part the Seventh

**A Spirit from the Vasty Deep**

_Rating: PG_

_Warning: this is a ghost story so there has been a character death but not angsty or sad_

_Disclaimer: the Mouse owns. I don't. Very sad._

**Part the Seventh**

A full week had passed since Jack had taken action against the ghost problem he had aboard the Pearl. He was leaning on the rail, basking in the morning sun, chewing reflectively on a piece of jerked beef. He had been of two minds about locking the books up but decided Norrington had earned the punishment for his discourtesy. The nagging feeling plaguing him at the moment was that he did understand the deceased man's lapse of proper shipboard manners; after all, Jack loved his books and acquired a new one whenever opportunity presented itself. It must have been quite the temptation for the Navy fellow, him being dead and all. He sighed a bit, he would unlock the trunk in a day or two and then it would be up to the Commodore to figure how to remove a book if he wanted to read it.

He was still having some difficulty understanding why he, Captain Jack Sparrow, would be saddled with such a ghost. Barbossa and his lot at least had been pirates and scallywags of the lowest order so it was not unreasonable that the likes of those miscreants would come a-haunting. No, instead of pirate ghosts, he had a Royal Navy ghost of some stature and his love had been won over by the pretty manners. Imagine, actually inviting the Scourge aboard. Well, done was done and now Jack had to figure out what to do about his little problem.

Meantime, Jack's "little problem" was plotting a retaliatory strike against the pirate captain who had so rudely taken away his books and locked them up so ostentatiously. James had already eliminated anything that involved potential damage to the Black Pearl, his hostess, or her crew. It would have to be something that targeted Jack and Jack alone.

While he was considering possible strategies, Norrington experimented on the trunk and the lock mechanism but his spectral skills had not yet developed sufficiently for him to open the trunk or to winkle a volume through the side panels. He was able to move his own hand in if he desired but it was apparent that he could not apply that transparency to other objects. Perhaps in due course, he would develop that ability; he saw the value in it so that would be one of his goals for the future.

Giving up on the padlock for the time, the ghost retreated to the window bench and made himself comfortable, propping his back into the corner of the bulkhead and bringing his feet up onto the seat. He braced his elbows against his knees and rested his chin on his hands, watching the sea churn in their wake and enjoying the bright sunshine. He looked around as a heavy thud announced the return of the cat as she leaped up to join him in the warmth. James smiled at her and she blinked back at him, the pair of them enjoying the day and the companionship. He reached over to her and scratched under her chin, the contented purr indication of her satisfaction with her attendant's well-trained fingers.

"_You know, I really need to have something to address you by, Madame. I cannot just keep referring to you as the cat. I have been considering the matter and have a suggestion to make to you. Seeing as I am, or was, I suppose, human, I do not know your cat name. I mean, the name you know yourself by, as I am convinced those of your kind have their own appellations that humans do not know. Upon reflection, I have several names to put forward to you to make your choice. Does this meet with your approval?"_

The hefty feline opened both eyes wide as she stood up and moved closer to Norrington, raising her paw to rest it on his leg. To make certain he understood her acceptance of his proposal, she also gave a trilling purr with an affirmative chirp before sitting solidly on his foot, allowing her tail to drape decoratively along the seat. James nodded his thanks before leaning forward to speak each name clearly and precisely, not realizing that the cat was perfectly happy with anything he suggested, as long as it was his voice she heard. After all, he was human and could not possibly understand the complexity of her true name that only cats knew.

"_Caliope?"_

"_Athena?"_

"_Hannah?"_

James went through several more names on his list, watching after each one to judge the cat's reaction to the name. The selection process continued for the next five names without approval. It was not until he came to one name that the cat took notice. He looked at her carefully, asking if she was certain that was the one she wished him to address her by.

"_Now, dear lady, you are absolutely certain this is the one you desire?"_

He was rewarded with a quick lick of her raspy tongue to the back of his hand where it rested on his knee beside her.

"_Very well. Agatha, it is."_

He smiled in satisfaction at his achievement and hummed an old familiar folk tune as the newly-christened Agatha eased around his leg and crawled into his lap, making herself comfortable in the sun's warmth. She flicked her fluffy tail at him teasingly until he got the message and began to stroke her gently. In perfect accord, the pair sat there the rest of the morning.

When the sun was at its zenith, the door to the cabin opened to admit Jack, the noise of his boots on the deck waking both the cat and the haunt from their lazy somnolence. At first, the pirate captain did not notice the oddity on his window seat but after fetching a chart down, he happened to glance over to the stern lights. This time, the cat was perched on something that clearly was real to her but invisible to him as she appeared to be sprawled out a short distance _above_ the cushions. For several moments Jack stared at what he could not see, even beginning to imagine a slight haze where Norrington's spirit was apparently taking his ease. He really did not like this turn of events and felt an unpleasant rumble in his gut as his earlier breakfast made its presence felt.

Shivering a trifle, he turned back to his work, determined not to give in to the superstitious fear he felt. He might have been one of the undead pirates for a short time but that only went so far to overcome the beliefs of a lifetime. In a way, he almost wished the phantom Commodore would simply show himself like any decent person or go away completely; this in-between nonsense was upsetting. With that thought in mind, he shifted to the side of the table furthest from the windows and sat down in his chair to consult the chart he had brought out. After a while, Jack looked over to the bench and saw the cat still lying suspended in mid-air. He swallowed his rising gorge and then decided to open a conversation with Norrington, seeing as how the shade was not in a hurry to vacate his cabin.

"Well, Norrington, cannot you do something about your visible manifestation? It's enough to make a man lose his last meal seeing that cat just hanging there. "'t ain't natural."

"_You wish me to talk to you now, do you? I was under the impression that you wished nothing to do with me, Captain Sparrow, especially after the last incident."_

"Nothing's changed there, just I don't like seeing my cat floating about my cabin."

"_It does not appear to be disturbing Agatha in any manner that I can see."_

"Agatha? Who's Agatha? We only have the three females on board, and that's the Pearl, Anamaria and the cat."

"_Well, actually there are a few more but they live down in the holds, mostly, and are not the most sociable creatures I have met."_

"Down in the hold? What the devil are you goin' on about, Norrington? I don't have any other females aboard that I know about, particularly down in the holds, unless you are counting the rats…oh. You've been down inspecting the Pearl's rats, then, have you?"

"_I would not say inspecting would be the correct term, however, I have been down in the holds and have indeed met some of the rodent population you keep."_

"That's why we have the cats. To catch the rats."

"_I should have thought that was obvious, Jack."_

"Of course, it's obvious! Why else would we have the cats if not to catch and kill the rats? Can't have rats running about the ship, getting into everything, gnawing and squeaking and making messes of everything. Hate the things with a passion, I do. So does the cook and when he's upset, his cooking makes certain that all the rest of us are upset too. Hence, the cats to kill the rats."

"_No call to become so dyspeptic, Jack, I was merely agreeing with your statement concerning the vermin eradication programme you have aboard the Pearl."_

Jack stared hard at where he imagined the late Commodore's face should have been, had the fellow the common decency to become visible. His temper was heating up again; he had almost decided to unlock the chest today and give the ghost a chance to have the books again but this attitude of Norrington's was just not acceptable. Punishment, therefore, would be extended a bit longer.

"_Do you know, Jack, when you get upset as you appear to be, there is a vein in your forehead that becomes quite prominent. In fact, one can almost see it throbbing. I do not believe that allowing yourself to get so worked up is good for a man of your age; one never knows what the consequences could be for unrestrained choleric outbursts."_

The solicitous concern for Jack's well being and the slur about his age were too much. The pirate captain snarled at his spectral annoyance, snatched up his chart and marched out of his cabin, being sure to shut the door firmly behind him. It totally escaped him that he had not had the answer to his question as to the identity of this 'Agatha' creature.

Norrington and Agatha observed the retreat of the captain, the one simply continuing to purr, quite unmoved by the fuss and bother; the other smiling slightly in satisfaction at having routed Jack. He looked over to the table where Jack had had his chart laid out and noticed the captain's battered and beloved leather cocked hat sitting off to one side. Putting the cat aside so that she was comfortable on the bench and after giving a caress to her soft ears and around her solid jaw, James stood and went over to the massive table to have a closer look at one of Jack's treasured effects.

It was not the most attractive hat James had ever seen but at least it did not have all the feathery nonsense plastered over its brim like his fancy dress hat. The leather was old and worn, the sides stitched up to form the tricorne. The sweat stains along the inner band had penetrated to the outside of the leather and the sun had faded the colour although it was difficult to form any idea of what the hat's true colour had been when it was first made. Jack apparently held much store by that hat and James wondered why that would be the case. He recalled the concern Jack had shown for his effects at their first meeting on the dock that day.

As he stood looking down at the pirate's hat, James had an idea. He still needed to punish Sparrow for the insult over the books and the hat was beginning to inspire him. He reached out toward it and closed his eyes before attempting to feel the leather with his hand. Still with his eyes closed, James felt around the hat and began to learn the sense of it. He took a deep breath and imagined his hand picking up the hat by its brim; he imagined the weight of it in his fingers, the smoothness of the leather, the different textures where the leather had weathered or become worn and dirty. He opened his eyes when he thought he had made it real enough for his senses to latch on to and glanced at where he hoped the hat to now be. To his delight, James found the hat in his grip exactly as he had envisioned it; the situation had definite potential now and all he had to do was determine what steps he wished to take in the chastisement of one Jack Sparrow.

He decided the hat was innocent of its owner's transgressions, therefore the hat could not actually be harmed. However, there should be sufficient latitude prior to the point of destruction to allow James to manipulate the hat's owner through his cherished headpiece. He would have to contemplate the possibilities. For now, getting a grip on a corporeal object was a major step up in his spectral abilities. James concentrated firmly and he was successful in restoring the hat to its place on the ornate table amid Jack's litter.

James decided that a bit of Jack-baiting would fill in his time nicely whilst he was planning the campaign. He needed to do some experimenting to determine his target's sensitivity to supernatural occurrences of the small variety before attempting anything grander. He began to ponder pranks and strategies designed with Sparrow in mind, beginning to laugh deeply at the pictures that arose in his mind. Agatha slitted her eyes open and purred loudly, her ears pricking the better to hear the Commodore's hilarity.

Elsewhere aboard the Black Pearl, shivers ran down several backs, hair rose on necks and arms. The ship gave a sudden dip and roll, catching her helmsman by surprise. As he firmed his grip on her wheel, Cotton looked up at the sky and around the decks for the cause of the ship's hitch in her stride. Parrot ruffled its feathers and crept closer in to the grizzled whiskers of its partner, fixing a dilating eye on the mute man's face before screeching out a warning to all and sundry.

Resigned, Gibbs looked up at the sails and reached for his old flask, giving it a shake before sighing a bit as he decided they really did have Norrington's ghost aboard and hoping they would survive this latest go-round with the undead or dead-but-not-gone or whatever the Commodore now was. If they were lucky, Norrington would recollect that he had been a fair and decent man in life and that there were far worse felons out there than the crew aboard the Black Pearl.

In the galley, Jack Sparrow heard the echo of the laughter coming from his cabin and shuddered, meeting the now disturbed eyes of his cook. Maybe, just maybe, he ought to have unlocked that trunk a bit sooner, after all.

_TBC_

6


	6. Part the Eighth

**A Spirit from the Vasty Deep**

_Rating: PG_

_Warning: this is a ghost story so there has been a character death but not angsty or sad_

_Disclaimer: the Mouse owns. I don't. Very sad._

**Part the Eighth**

Anamaria had the night watch on the helm. She actually enjoyed the time to be with the ship and not have the crew fussing about. The air was chill so she had worn her great coat when she had come up to take the wheel from Kursar. It was a fine night; the sky was so clear and deep that the stars pulsed with life, the masts and sails dark shadows against them. There was no moon to drown out the lesser lights in the heavens and even the winds were fair and soft, the Pearl's path through the waves an easy one. Nights such as these were to be savoured for the treasures they were and she had no intentions of not taking her share.

The time alone on the quarterdeck allowed her to consider the strange happening earlier in the day. She had heard laughter coming from the great cabin, as had several others among the crew, but she knew there had been no one in there at the time. Jack had been slinking about for hours now, almost as if he were avoiding returning to his quarters. She had caught him staring at the doors to the cabin, only for him to abruptly look away when he had noticed her watching him. Anamaria was not entirely certain where Jack was at the moment but she was convinced it had something to do with that laughter. The sound had not been loud but the quality of it had caught her attention; somehow, it had a warmth and richness to it that made her wish to hear the voice that might accompany it. She sighed in frustration, knowing that it could not have come from a living being. One of these days, she would have to find out what it was about Jack Sparrow that drew the spirits from the other side and see if a mambo could do something to control what the fool man attracted.

The night passed without incident, much to Anamaria's relief. The day time was better for coping with the oddities. A couple of hours before sunrise and there was Gibbs stumping along the main deck, checking on the ship as he habitually did. She figured that once a Navy man, always a Navy man. He was all right, for an older fellow, at least he was able to respect her for her skills and temper, had done so almost from the very beginning. He climbed up the steps to join her on the quarterdeck and paused to check the hourglass, waiting for the last bit of sand to run before reversing it and sounding out the time on the ship's bell. Duty done, he came up alongside her at the wheel. She was in no hurry to relinquish control of the Black Pearl and Gibbs was in no hurry to take it from her, each content to just stand there in companionable silence for a spell.

"Been a nice smooth run tonight, eh, Ana?"

"Couldn't have asked for a better, Joshamee."

"Aye, it's not often we get a sweet time like this. Best we enjoy it whilst we can."

"You make it sound like somethin's goin' to happen. Why is that, man?"

"I've a feeling, lass, just a feeling."

"Would that feelin' of yours happen to have somethin' to do wit' that laughter that was heard around the ship yesterday? You know, that laughing comin' from Jack's cabin."

"Heard that, did you now?"

"Aye and so did you, Joshamee Gibbs. Now, what was it? Do you know?"

"I have my suspicions."

"Come on. Out wit' them. Don' keep me waitin'."

"Maybe you don't want to hear what I think it was. I know I surely don't."

"I already think it's one of the undead again. Just I don' know which one or what it wants. Who can tell what Jack Sparrow draws to him? That man, he have a wicked talent to get involved with them what's on the other side."

"Only one person I can think of who it might be. He's been dead a few months now and I can see why, if he was going to haunt somebody, it would be Jack. At least he ain't like Barbossa and that ilk, that's likely the only good news about this whole thing."

"Well, whoever it is, he has the prettiest laugh. Wish I could hear the voice what goes wit' it. You sound like you know this haunt personally?" Anamaria could not resist needling Gibbs over his possible acquaintance with whatever or whoever was hanging about the Pearl this time around.

Gibbs looked at Anamaria, frowning a bit in annoyance as he made out her amusement at his expense. He still thought it was bad luck to have a woman aboard a ship but, like Jack had said, it was worse luck not to have this one. She was being drawn to the spirit in turn; the Black Pearl had already been won over and made her approval of the wee ghost manifest. Even the ship's chief cat, also female, had succumbed to the late man's charms. Really no surprise, the Commodore had been a handsome man in life and had had good manners where the ladies were concerned, from all Gibbs had seen or heard of the man. Gibbs might not have been affected by the quality of the late officer's voice but he had seen its effect on the females before and was not unduly surprised. He did not think Norrington had ever really appreciated what a fine tool he had with those warm rich tones; if the man had played it properly, he could have had half of Port Royal swooning over him. He snickered when the pictures of some of those "ladies" crossed his mind; the Commodore had had a good deal of practice deftly avoiding their snares but there had been a number of bets hazarded as to which one might have caught the man.

"Aye, I knew him. Heard him speak up when Cotton was on watch the other day. Jack and the others wouldn't look me in the eye or admit they heard it too but I knew it had to be him, just from what he said and how he said it."

"Who? Come on, Gibbs, spit it out. I want to know who the haunt is we've got aboard."

"The Commodore, that's who."

"The Commodore? You mean…Norrington? The one what almost hanged Jack in Port Royal and then let him have a head start? That one?"

"O' course, that one! How many Commodores you know of what have been chasing Jack like this?" Gibbs snorted in sudden good humour, "And now he's gone and caught Jack and there's nothing Jack can do about it, I'd say."

Anamaria laughed in glee. Gibbs chuckled right along with the young woman, his fine whiskers ruffling out as he grinned broadly.

"Couldn't happen to a more deserving man, now, could it?"

During this exchange, the ghost in question had been listening in, quite unabashed at his eavesdropping. He had been up on the quarterdeck enjoying the night and the picture the helmswoman made but had had no inclination to strike up a conversation. He was quite amused by Gibbs' willingness to believe in ghosts and the man's accurate deduction as to the identity of what was haunting the Black Pearl. He did not really consider himself to be a haunt, merely a guest the ship had chosen to invite aboard to travel along with her. Norrington decided to speak up and see if the pair was able to hear him properly; it would be nice to have more people with whom to converse. He approached the helm and came around so he stood forward of the wheel and was able to see their faces; he did not wish to cause them harm or undue upset.

"_My thanks for the kind words, Miss Anamaria, and yours as well, Mr. Gibbs."_

Gibbs and Anamaria stood stock still as they registered the words and the pleasant voice that each had obviously heard, even though there was nobody on the quarterdeck with them. Their eyes were stretched wide as they stared over each other's shoulder. Gibbs swallowed thickly before making so bold as to ask something he had not truly wanted an answer for.

"Is that yourself, then, Commodore Norrington?"

"_I'm afraid that it is, Mr. Gibbs. I would say 'in the flesh' but that is clearly not the case. My apologies for causing you both unnecessary distress but I am somewhat limited in my options at present."_

Anamaria removed one ice-cold hand from the worn wood of the wheel and surreptitiously wiped the sweat off down the leg of her canvas breeches. It was one thing to speculate on the presence aboard the Pearl of what might be an undead but quite another to be confronted with it and having a conversation with the thing. True to her nature, she scowled in annoyance and spoke up sharply.

"Where are you and how long have you been listenin' to us talk, eh?"

"_I am standing in front of you at this moment, Miss Anamaria, although I do not believe you can see me. As for my overhearing your conversation, I must repeat my apologies. It had not been my intention to intrude."_

"Well, that certainly didn't stop you." Ana paused, her frown deepening as she tried to spot Norrington. "Where, exactly, in front of me are you supposed to be?"

"_Approximately two paces forward of the wheel."_

"I can't see you."

"_No, so far very few can see my form. Agatha the cat is able to see me, as are the other animals on board. I seem to make some people uncomfortable with my presence but others are apparently quite unaware of me. I have no idea why there would be such disparity but there you have it."_

"Gibbs, can you make him out?"

"No, I'm nowheres near drunk enough to be seeing what ain't there, lass." Gibbs took a sip from his flask but knew it would not really help, just the action made him feel more himself. Besides, there just was not enough rum in the little flask to do much aside from wetting his dry mouth.

"_Are you so certain that I am not here, Joshamee?"_

"If it really is yourself, Commodore, since when do you call me by my name. Answer that, if you can."

"_It really is me, Mr. Gibbs. As for addressing you by your name, it is not as if I am still a Commodore in the Royal Navy, I'm merely a passenger aboard the Black Pearl. Why should I be so formal as to not acknowledge your name?"_

"And that's another thing, Commodore, how did you get to be aboard the Black Pearl, anyway? This be a pirate ship, not a Navy ship. You're supposed to be hunting us down, not coming along as a lark."

"_I had no where else to be and the Black Pearl was so kind as to allow me to come along with her on her journey. As for hunting pirates, I have no need to be hunting anyone at present and am quite happy to be here."_

At that remark, Anamaria snorted in sudden good humour. Norrington might be happy to be aboard but she knew at least one person who did not share that opinion.

"Have you let Jack know you're aboard his ship, Norrington?"

"_Ah, that would be an affirmative. It was, after all, only proper courtesy that I should make my presence known to my host as he is the captain of this ship."_

"No wonder he's skulking about, too scared to go back into his own cabin." Gibbs and Anamaria looked at each other for a moment before bursting out into sniggers. Jack was in for it now and they were lucky enough to be there to see the show. They had heard the sly humour in Norrington's spectral voice and appreciated the entertainment that was bound to happen.

"So, Commodore Norrington, why can't we see you? I've heard that ghosts can be seen by the living but how come you're still invisible, as it were?"

"_Why do not you address me by my name? We can leave the Commodore out of this as he is no longer of any rank in the Royal Navy that I am aware of. My name_ _is James. I would be pleased if you would use it."_

"Thank'ee, sir. It may take a while to get used to the notion but I'll try."

Ana motioned to Gibbs to take the wheel and then she walked around to the other side of it, standing clear of where she thought she had heard the voice coming from. She did not want to find out the hard way if a ghost and a living person could share the same space or not. The voice, now that she had heard more of it, was living up to expectations and she would not object to hearing more of it. She was growing more curious as to what Norrington looked like, or had looked like when he was a man walking the earth.

"You're supposed to be standing about here," she said, pointing vaguely at the deck by the wheel, "at least, that's what you said. Where exactly are you?"

"_About one pace directly ahead of where you are facing at this moment."_

The answer came from some distance above her head so he must have been a tall man, assuming ghosts kept their original sizes from when they were living. She tilted her head back a bit, trying to make eye contact had she been able to see him. He watched in amusement as she tried to map out something about him. He decided to help her out a bit and spoke up.

"_If you look up just a bit more and toward your left slightly, you would be looking at my face. I believe you are attempting to place some semblance of form onto my presence. Gibbs and Sparrow know what I looked like so they could likely fill in some of the details if that would be of assistance to you."_

"You say the cat can see you and some of the crew can feel you about. I know some of us can hear you. So why can we not see you? Can Jack see you?"

"_I do not understand why I cannot be seen by humans. Perhaps it is because I am new to this role and have not yet learned the skills needed. As for Sparrow, I do not believe he can see me; at least, he has given no indication that that is the case. He is definitely aware of me and can hear me perfectly well."_

"I'll just bet he can. No wonder he's acting the way he is. That was you laughing before, wasn't it? I think half the crew heard you that time. What did Jack do to you?" Anamaria was becoming more and more curious about the goings on aboard the Black Pearl. It was obvious the ship was not objecting to whatever was going on between the two adversaries; in fact, the Pearl felt as if she was amused by the whole situation, judging by the lightness of spirit that could be felt through the wheel and the deck.

"_I had just learned how to turn the pages of a book and was enjoying reading for the first time since arriving at this condition and he took the books away, locking them in a trunk where I am unable to retrieve them."_

"More importantly, what did you do to Jack, Comm…er… James?" Gibbs was fascinated by the story he was hearing and could not resist asking for more.

"_I must confess that part of it is my fault; I forgot one of the first rules of shipboard life, that is to say, I neglected to ask permission before I made use of Jack's possessions."_

"He should understand that; it's not as if he don't like any book he can get his grubby, clutching, sticky paws on."

"_Besides, it's not what I _have_ done to Jack that was making me laugh."_

"No? Then what was it? Don't stop there, lad, we want to hear everything."

"_It's just that I had a thought as to what I _could _perhaps do to Jack that was making me laugh."_

Anamaria gasped aloud as she realized that the torment-Jack campaign was about to start and she would be able to watch it unfold. She looked to Gibbs and saw the same unholy glee light up his face. This could be good and with Jack on the receiving end for once, it was only just. They looked to where they could hear a soft chuckle coming from Norrington's position.

"_I gather, from your expressions, that you do not disapprove of what is about to befall your captain?"_

"I seem to recollect some stories I heard about a certain dodgy young midshipman, then lieutenant, at least before he got all starched up. Only got to kiss the gunner's daughter the oncet, he was smart enough to escape all the other times he surely deserved punishment."

Gibbs took a sip of rum, slanting a pointed look to where he thought James was standing. Anamaria poked him in the shoulder and held her hand out for her share of the spirits. Her watch was almost over and there was nothing untoward to prevent her having a warming swallow of rum.

"Just don't be damagin' him, eh, James? We've almost got him trained proper and the Pearl is fond of the daft bugger." Gibbs felt he ought to make the reminder, just for the sake of good form and setting up some ground rules.

The three stood for a while longer, contemplating the possible mayhem that was about to descend upon Captain Jack Sparrow, and enjoying the relaxed companionship. If the Black Pearl wished to have an undead Navy commander aboard, then at least she had the good taste to pick the best. Anamaria had never seen Norrington in the flesh and she was curious what he looked like so she spoke up.

"What do you look like anyway, James? You seem to be tall enough from where I can hear your voice comin' from. Josh 'members tales of pranks you got into when you were a young'un so you can't be all that old. The voice is nice enough but I'd like to have a face to put to it."

Gibbs hoisted an eyebrow and shrugged a bit at the question. Typical female, always wanting to be knowing more details like how someone looked. He was no where near stupid enough to inform her of that so he decided to tell her a bit about what the officer had looked like.

"You're right about James bein' a tall bloke, he's an inch or two over a fathom. Kind o' skinny. Dark brown hair, not that you could see it when he got himself promoted and had to wear that wig contraption. Black brows, sort of heavy and slung over the eyes, almost joined in between. Good nose, my da' would have said; leastways it didn't look as if it had been broken much, like some hereabouts. Guess the most striking thing about him would have been the eyes. The sailors below decks used to say Mr. Norrington could see through the deck planks. Funny colour, too, they were, quite green and sharp. Didn't seem to put off any of the ladies about the towns, they all had their hooks out for him whenever they came within range of boarding."

"_I think that is quite enough, Mr. Gibbs. I do not believe we need to be subjected to more about my looks, whatever they were."_ James sounded rather embarrassed by the whole thing; he had not been a vain man in life but that did not mean he enjoyed being described in such a fashion.

"I don' agree, James, I never knew you, except by reputation, and that was enough to frighten a good many honest pirates. I like to know who I be talkin' to, to watch their eyes and their expressions, to tell me what's goin' on in their heads. Can't do that with you; gives you the advantage over the likes of us, don't it?"

"_Hmm, you do have a point. Very well, I concede Joshamee's description of me, despite what it does to my vanity."_

"Thought you'd see it my way."

Anamaria gave a smug smile as she stood back from the wheel to let Gibbs take over the helm. She would be on her way to her cabin and her bunk to take a well-earned rest. It had been an interesting trick at the wheel, this one. She never would have thought she would have been having such a pleasant conversation with the ghost of one of the Royal Navy's most feared pirate hunters in these waters. She turned to look at the lightening in the sky to eastward, it bid to be a fair day but right now her warm cot was calling to her loud and clear. She swung around to bid goodnight to the two men over by the wheel and stopped in shock.

There, by the wheel, stood a wispy image of a tall man, his white shirt, breeches and waistcoat catching what light there was. The sun was not up but still it was not night any longer, either; rather it was the between time between night and day. She heard a rough curse from Gibbs and knew he was seeing the same thing as she was. Her eyes opened wider in wonder as for just an instant, Norrington's face became clear and she was able to see his features truly for the first time. He disappeared as soon as the first rays from the sun touched him but for a moment out of time, he had stood there before them, a quiet smile on the lean face.

TBC of course


	7. Part the Ninth

**A Spirit from the Vasty Deep**

_Rating: PG_

_Warning: this is a ghost story so there has been a character death but not angsty or sad_

_Disclaimer: the Mouse still owns. I don't. Very sad._

**Part the Ninth**

Jack approached the doors to his cabin with a certain degree of trepidation. He had been hiding out in the galley again and had come away with his breakfast in hand, deciding in the light of day that he really needed to establish his mastery over the spectre who had taken to haunting his quarters. He tried to mask his feelings beneath an assured façade, looking over to Gibbs at the helm and daring him to say otherwise. Gibbs very sensibly kept his comments to a simple "Good morning, Jack," maintaining as inoffensive and dull an expression as he could manage. For a moment, Jack stared at the older man, suspicious at the innocent face. Deciding it was likely best not to pursue the matter, he sucked in a deep breath to bolster his courage, pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside, kicking the door to behind him.

When inside the cabin, Jack peered around cautiously, looking for signs of the Commodore. For once, the cat was not about so he did not have to put up with the feline's ridiculous infatuation with the Englishman; he really hated it when the cat was suspended in mid-air or getting a friendly scratch from invisible fingers. He glanced around quickly but nothing seemed to be out of place. His table was as he had left it, the other things lying about the cabin were undisturbed. Jack put his breakfast down onto the mahogany surface gently and then he sat down to eat his meal, forcing himself to take normal sized bites and to chew it properly, refusing to allow the ghost to upset his digestion any more than he had already done. Bloody Navy.

By the time he had finished his bowl, Jack had relaxed enough to sit back and take out the charts he had brought back from Gibbs' quarters, tucked up in a tight roll under his arm, when he had come in with his meal. Shoving the bowl to one side, he laid out the sheets, carefully flattening them and weighting down the corners with assorted objects conveniently on the table. The top one had the area he wished to plot a course for, up to the Bahamas this time. He liked the area in general and the pickings could be good, especially away from Jamaica and the naval commander who had taken over Norrington's post, inheriting the hunter's pack of hounds.

Failing to find the rule, dividers and pencils where he remembered them being, he began to cast about in search of them. Muttering to himself, Jack flung open a drawer in the cabinet where he stowed most of the small bits and pieces that he kept handy and discovered some of the objects he sought neatly placed in plain sight. He had no memory of returning them there but decided he must have done so when his mind was on other issues, notably a certain ghostly nuisance he had aboard. Snatching them up, he closed the drawer and the cabinet doors, a habit for neatness most sailors had out of necessity, and marched back to the table and his chart.

Dropping heavily into his favourite chair, Jack set his implements down and arranged them to his satisfaction, realizing he was yet lacking the dividers. Huffing in annoyance, he made to stand and return to the cabinet when his wandering eye chanced to land on his hat, sitting atop the bedclothes in his hanging cot. A trick of the sunlight flooding the cabin caught something shiny gleaming brightly, hanging over the worn leather brim. He knew there was nothing shiny on his beloved hat, he wore his jewelry on his hands or in his hair, and there really should have been nothing there to draw the light. Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Jack stood and stalked over to examine his precious more closely. The silver dividers were hanging on the brim, as bold as anything, and he knew, he really knew, right down to his cringing toes, they had not been put there by his own self. That left only one answer as none of the crew would dare to pull such a prank on their captain.

Scowling like a petulant child, Jack snatched up his dividers and returned to his table, not willing to give the Commodore the satisfaction of a comment. Settling into place again, he applied himself diligently to plotting the course he needed for the trip, eventually losing himself in the task and forgetting his woes for the time being. For his own pleasure, he continued the work and calculated a number of other courses here and there. When he came back to the present, Jack laid down his tools and sat back before looking around for something to drink. Course charting was thirsty work and he knew he had some wine stashed away in the cabinet beside his bed. He rose and stretched out to relieve a bit of stiffness acquired from sitting for so long and sauntered over to get his drink. Pouring out a glass (he preferred a glass, the better to enjoy the colour of the wine), Jack wandered over to the stern windows and stood looking out, his thoughts miles away.

Eventually he finished his drink, tilting his head back to drain the last drops from the finely etched glass and turned to go back to his work table. Jack tidied up his charts, returning the ones he no longer required to their proper place. The one with the course he was planning to take he left out, placing it over to one side. While he was in his present mood, he decided to update his logbook and personal journal; there was nothing urgent to do at the moment, the Pearl was running smooth and fair with Cotton and his winged fiend at the helm and the crew had tasks to attend to. He sat down again and pulled the bowl of fruit closer to his left hand before taking out the logbook. He inspected the fruit and selected a banana which seemed to be just at the perfect stage of ripeness and proceeded to delicately peel the yellow skin down from the sweet flesh hidden beneath, the fragrance tickling his nostrils enticingly.

Armed with his treat, Jack picked up a quill and dipped it carefully into the ink well he had at the ready and began to write in the logbook the summary of the past couple of day's events, course and observations of wind and weather. He very carefully left out any mention of the supernatural, he was not about to put anything into the log that could possibly have any hint that the captain was seeing things that were not there. As he wrote, Jack nibbled at his banana, masticating happily and swallowing the juicy pulp, being certain to run his tongue around his teeth to get every bit. The gold work in his mouth had no taste of its own but the sleek smoothness of the rich metal pleased his tongue, as was proper for a successful pirate captain. A golden smile hinted at success, at least in Jack's mind; quite the proper display for one of his rank and achievements.

Jack continued with his tasks, the log not taking much effort on his part, given the easy journey they were presently enjoying. He blew on the ink to hurry its drying and when he was satisfied that the fresh entries would not smear, he closed the book and shoved it to the middle of the mahogany table. He was ready to begin his private journal and that would take a deal longer to get the recent happenings down in any semblance of order and sanity. He sat gazing at the page, gnawing around a hangnail as he pondered the situation. He made his decision and took up a fresh pen he had prepared and hunkered over the book to begin his accounts of the supernatural presence which had elected to make itself to home aboard the Black Pearl.

It was a difficult entry to make and Jack persisted in his endeavour for some time, occasionally having to scratch out a line and rework it, frequently pausing to reconsider his wording. He leaned back in his chair and took a long quaff of the wine he had at his elbow before he read back what he had just laboured over. Jack shook his head in dismay; despite experiencing the occurrences first hand, even he would have scoffed mightily at the tale had he heard in some public house of an evening ashore. Sighing in frustration but determined to get it down properly, he bent again to his onerous task.

Several minutes had passed when a soft sound infiltrated his consciousness, causing Jack to sit up and look around for the source of the noise. He could not hear anything untoward aboard the Pearl; all the sounds were fitting for the time and place. The cat had wandered in while he was working but she was sound asleep on his bed, shedding great gobs of fur all over it as usual. However, she was not the source of the sound that had roused him. As that thought passed through his mind, the feline gave a rumbling snore and turned over to spread more of that blasted hair across his bedding. He listened intently for a while longer before deciding it must have been the cat after all and returned again to his journal.

This time the sound that intruded upon him was a bit louder and more sustained, a distinct repeated thudding that he could not quite hear but which seemed to vibrate on the tiny hairs inside his ears, tickling him nastily. Jack kept his position and let his eyes search out the source of the disturbance, even to the dark corners and shadows around his cabin. Failing to spy anything out of place, he sat up sharply and stood, the quill tumbling to the deck and his chair scraping the oak boards with the violence of his motion. He had a growing suspicion as to what, or rather, who was disturbing his peace and Jack Sparrow was not about to let that particular Who go unchallenged.

"All right, I know you're here and what you're up to. Well, it's not going to work, mate, and that is that. So you can just take yourself off to wherever it is you go and haunt somebody else's quarters for a change."

Jack paused, waiting for an answer from his resident spectre. Nothing happened, no voice in the air, nothing whatsoever. He found he was annoyed at the lack of response and then was further annoyed with himself for being upset about Norrington's apparent absence in the first place. On the one hand, he was glad there was no ghostly presence hanging about but he found himself disliking being ignored by the blighter. Jack still had neither forgotten nor forgiven the insultingly snide remarks when they had first encountered one another down on the docks that day Elizabeth succumbed to her corset and went swimming unexpectedly.

Snorting in satisfaction at vanquishing the foe, Jack returned to his work and settled again. The Pearl was sailing along sweetly; the cat… he paused while he peered over to where he had last seen her only to find she was now ensconced on his favourite pillow. He would have thrown something at her but refrained, he did not want his ship, the cat or the cook to reciprocate with the retaliations he knew they were capable of. He was not truly angry with the cat, anyway; in fact, he was quite attached to the old girl. He turned back to his journal and continued with his account, wanting to finish the section before picking up the journal wherein he was penning the adventures of one Jack Sparrow, Pyrate.

Jack scratched away happily once he had finished the short bit about the latest ghost on board the Pearl; it was much more fun to write about his own life. He huffed rather smugly to himself, at least _he_ was alive, not some undead creature making itself unwelcome aboard decent pirate ships. The pen's nib was getting a bit too soft so he paused and took up his pen knife to shape a new firmer point on the quill, admiring his skill as he did so. Carefully placing it in the centre of the book in the convenient gully made by the binding, Jack rose and sauntered over to the doors to the deck and opened them, stepping out long enough to enjoy the sun and to have a good look at how his ship was running. Her canvas wings were filled to a nicety and she was as sailing as smoothly as he could desire, a thing of beauty to his doting eyes.

He ran lightly up to the quarterdeck to stand by his helmsman, remembering to stand just outside the reach of the winged menace's heavy beak and avaricious eye. He was content to let Cotton handle the helm, not needing to take the wheel in hand at the moment. Jack's feet were bare and he could feel the vibrations in the deck, using them to read his beloved ship's passage through the sea. The Pearl felt as content as he did, at any rate that was how Jack read the sensations. He wandered over to the side and braced his forearms comfortably along the rail, absently stroking the wood as he did. He looked down the tall black sides to check the frothy wave breaking back from the Pearl's bow, admiring the contrast between the rich colours of the sea, the dark hull and the sea foam. He peered back to check their wake and was satisfied to see it forming true and steady, spreading outward in a transverse line.

Jack did not feel like returning to his cabin and decided to have a run up the rigging. He had always enjoyed the sensation of being so high above the rest of the world and up there, he had a measure of peace and joy. The main was the highest of the three masts, therefore it was up those shrouds and then higher up until he could perch on the main t'gallant's yard, one hand casually gripping a line. Up here, he felt the sun's warmth and turned his face up to her for a moment before returning his gaze out to the horizon. A horizon unspoiled by land or ships or anything else, just the perfect arch of the world beyond his vision.

_TBC_


End file.
